The Ghost of You
by her name is erika
Summary: "If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica. [AU]
1. Prologue: The Beginning

**The Ghost of You  
** **Summary:** "If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica.

* * *

 **PROLOGUE: The Beginning**

When Billy Abbott woke up this morning to leave for Restless Style, his girlfriend was gone but he knew she'd come at night. She always did because the smell of her perfume and her natural scent lingered in his sheets. He woke up as he always and found a note in her writing. _I'll come back_ , she'd always write. Billy, in turn, would smile and shake his head imagining her smile and the mischievous glint in her beautiful eyes. Phyllis Summers was beautiful with red hair and a wicked mind. She swore freely, lived passionately, and laughed as though, it came from her soul. He could finally see what his brother, Jack, saw in her before he was killed.

His older brother joined their father due to some strange cause, he and his sisters didn't want to ponder while in their grief. Phyllis had been devastated and through the grief they floated in, they had bumped into each other and never let the other go. Phyllis was beautiful but she was strange. He should have feared her. He should have judged her and looked at her with new eyes that said he didn't love her anymore. But he didn't. Billy stared at her quietly and assuming he had been hurt, Phyllis sighed and got up to go. Of course, she was stronger and faster than him but still, he gently grabbed her arm and stopped her. He rested a hand on her cheek and it was comfortably warm. He looked at her and smiled reassuringly.

Despite her tough exterior and all of the edges that could cut him to the bone, she smiled back with her eyes filling with tears. In her smile, Billy noticed a new sharpness in it that made her more attractive. He ran a hand through her flame coloured hair and kissed her to reassure her. Besides, he stopped being shocked with these things. His ex-wife was a powerful witch, his kids had inherited their own kind of magic from her, Reed was an instinctual hunter because his dad was, and the man about to be Johnny and Katie's stepfather was a fucking mutt.

This beautifully crafted woman with him was truly something otherworldly and eternal. Phyllis was a vampire. Billy was a bourbon drinking bastard and an atheist.

"If you're a monster," Billy softly whispered against her lips, "you're my monster."

Shit happened.

—

The day continued to play out as normal. He had gone to see his children, keeping up his easy and fun friendship with Victoria. Would they go back to their romance laden with some of his best memories and heaviest baggage? Probably not, but for two people who were dysfunctional, they had made two relatively normal children. Billy loved Victoria in a way that wasn't romantic anymore. There was someone else to do that now, but Billy would always care for her as the mother of his children and shockingly his good friend. He mused that perhaps, they had been so deeply entrenched in the Newman-Abbott rivalry so long and so frequently, it left them comfortably numb and immune.

Now as his head throbbed and Billy struggled to open his eyes to adjust to his surroundings, he got the feeling it wasn't daytime anymore. He grunted as he pulled himself to a sitting position and when he stood, his legs as steady as Johnny's Play Doh. He blinked to adjust his eyes again, and he realized he was confined to a place strange to him. It was white everywhere. There were white walls to the left and right of him, and white walls under and above him. If it was intended to drive Billy crazy, it was working. Oh, and his cot was white too.

"Shit…" Billy cursed, grimacing as his head continued to pound, and he nearly saw double. His vision was swimming. Every exhale and inhale left a sharp in his side. The florescent lights were blinding and they left a stinging in his eyes that made him squint against them. There were no windows, Billy realized, as his eyes flitted around the room. He could have died and stepped into some strange white light but he was sure he wasn't going to go to heaven on his own merit. He leaned against the wall to relieve the vice in his head. When the door opened, Billy forced himself to breathe and not wince. His heart skipped and it frustrated Billy that he couldn't steady it.

Long pale legs moved gracefully, the clicking of her black heels, a never-ending gong in his head. A dark green dress wrapped around her body, golden bangles on her skinny wrist. Billy kept his eyes focused on her partly in defiance and partly in fear. He wouldn't let his fear be seen though. He was fueled by his residual need to keep Phyllis clear and vivid in his mind and a parent's instinct to see their children. He saw her tanned skin, dark eyes and long black hair. Her lips were painted red, her fingernails painted black.

Her dark eyes were sharp and hawk-like as they scanned him and stayed on his face.

"The rumours are indeed true," the woman spoke smoothly, a slight Spanish accent tinged in her speech. "They said William Foster Abbott was handsome and here you are before me, in the flesh. I am curious to know if you taste as good as you look."

Billy pulled a face, reared back from her touch, "You're not my type, sweetheart. You look like a Mary type, or Nancy type, or," he snapped his fingers in mock recognition, "an Alexandra type. I dated an Alexandra once. Total bitch and needy as hell, that one."

"My name," the woman spoke offended and angrily, narrowing her eyes, "is Marisol."

He settled in comfortably against the wall even though a sharp pain stabbed him in the side, worse than the first. Billy worked with everything inside of him to keep his irritation away. Any emotion that would bring his aches and slight nausea to the forefront.

Billy chuckled and raised an eyebrow. There was mocking amusement in his eyes.

"Well, Marisol," Billy continued, imitating her accent, "I still don't care."

Marisol's offence morphed into rage. Her eyes flashed red and she hissed, baring her fangs. Billy resisted the urge to fight her knowing that she could snap him in half. Billy almost smiled at the image of a fiery redhead busting in to kill her. Her eyes traveled down to his neck and Billy saw her smile from his peripheral vision. Billy felt her penetrating, hungry gaze. Still, he was defiant and his body tensed up. Billy felt his heart race so fast, he didn't know when it would stop or what he would do if it truly did. A finger traced the side of his neck and he almost wished to die so Marisol could do pester someone else.

"I can hear your heart racing." Marisol said, soft and distant. "Adrenaline in the blood is simply wonderful. You must taste exquisite."

"I'm not your blood type," he snarked, knowing he was a living, breathing free for all buffet. He would be a sitting duck in the middle of hunting season. "Shut the fuck up and do it already."

"It would be my pleasure," Marisol said, finally. She let her fangs be free and Billy tensed in anticipation of them piercing his neck. Billy was also ready for the pain. He was preparing himself to tell Phyllis he loved her – all of her. He loved her warmth even though it was more of a forest fire he didn't mind being in the middle of. He loved Phyllis for all her flaws and he loved more for all the things that made her perfect for him. Billy was readying himself to tell Victoria, she was the best person he ever knew, an even better mother, and to take of Johnny and Katie. He was praying he didn't gag when he told Travis to take care of his kids and love them like they were his own. He already did. Billy appreciated that even though he'd never say it to his face.

"Marisol!" a sharp deep tone boomed, making the vampire move from him. Her fangs were gone, her eyes their normal dark brown and she frowned deeply at the stranger. Billy knew that voice. He felt it in his bones. It sparked memories in his head, buried in the past and weighed down by emotions he didn't want to deal with. The only thing he wanted to deal with iwas making his head work well enough to devise an escape plan without dying. The voice spoke again, and Billy almost couldn't breathe. Marisol wasn't so useless because she stood between him and the stranger. "Hold your temper and leave our guest be."

Marisol sighed, annoyed, "You've become quite a bore ever since you lost _her_ …"

There was a pause before Billy heard the familiar but the strange voice. It was familiar in his head and heart but strange in his head. It was wrought with calm anger.

"I could kill you instead. That will entertain me and make things more lively, I assure you."

Marisol started to speak but held her tongue. Billy knew the sound of someone forcing their words back because he was his superpower. Well, one of them. He often failed at that. Billy said it was a superpower of his. It didn't mean it was effective or anything.

"Get out of my sight."

Marisol huffed and turned around to him. She smiled, touching his face.

"We will meet again, _mi amor_."

Billy smiled sarcastically and smugly, "Goodbye, _Miranda_."

Marisol glared at him before she turned to the stranger before she huffed, and sped off in a literal blur. Only then when Billy was able to see the face and the person wearing the sharp, tailored suit. His head pounded again, and raced with thoughts that made no sense to him. Sound became warped and disjointed and it took everything in Billy not to throw up.

"Holy fuck…No."

The stranger grinned, and Billy knew that smile. He knew the face.

"Don't pay any attention to her. William Abbott. I'm glad we finally have this chance to meet."

Billy's eyes stayed on his face before his anger and annoyance came rushing at him, full force. Jack had died right after their dad and left him when he promised he wouldn't. Delia, his daughter, had died of cancer while he was married to Victoria. Despite Victoria being full of literal magic, there was no solution or spell to stop their marriage from disintegrating. He wasn't going to let himself be selfish and allow her to be consumed by her darkness when Victoria was adamant that she'd bring Delia back using every avenue of necromancy. She wanted to bring Delia back from the dead to make him happy and repair his heart but everything was beyond repair.

Currenty, he loved the life he had and the weird world he lived in life. It was funny because he, of all people, was normal when he was surrounded by people who were anything but. Most days, it cracked him up but now, it angered him. _Fuck you, Jack._ His brother was gone and messed up as it was, he was fine with it. He would never be fine with never having his big brother rip on him, or be okay with never getting to make fun of The Moustache again but he wasn't okay. Because here was another man with the face of the brother he loved, warping and twisting every good memory he had of Jack.

"Billy's fine," he snapped, locking his jaw. "What the fuck do you with me?"

The man laughed his brother's laugh without all the warmth behind it.

"I was informed of your lack of patience," he said, again and waved a dismissive hand. "No matter, Billy. First and foremost, allow me to introduce myself."

Billy's heart hammered in his chest but he was thankful the anger didn't leave him. If it did, he would be scared shitless. His eyes flitted to the white door with the – of fucking course – white doorknob. The stranger followed his glance and then looked back at him.

He clicked his tongue with mock disdain, "You've just arrived and you're looking to leave?"

"What?" Billy sneered, with a mocking smile. "You gonna have us bond over a drink and share life stories instead?"

The man sank down to take a seat on the cot. Billy watched those cold blue eyes glance down at his neck before they locked on his. He didn't say it, but Billy found this man's grin chilling. He had to get out of here. He had to see his sisters. Billy had to see his children, trade stupid and funny texts with Victoria because the laughter was genuine and platonic, and more than anything, he had to see Phyllis, feel her and prayed he wouldn't forget what her perfume smelled like and what her skin felt like against hers.

"I understand your eagerness to leave. After all, you have your children, John and Katherine. Surely, Victoria Newman is taking wonderful care of them," he replied and frowned lightly when he said Victoria's name. Billy felt a twinge of confusion. He sighed, smiling again. Billy saw that kind of smile in an unnamed slasher film too old to name and ones he got in trouble for watching because he was too young. "But you must humour me by staying."

"Why exactly?"

"Because," he stood again, and stepped towards Billy, slow and deliberate. There was always a twinkle in Jack's eyes and in these pair of identical ones, there was nothing, "it seems we have Phyllis Summers in common, of course."

Billy's head snapped up, and there was alarmingly fast clarity cutting through the fog.

"Good. Now, I have your attention," the man said finally and put out his hand for Billy to shake. "Let's get introduced. I am Marco. Marco Annacelli."

—

Phyllis climbed the second story of Billy's Victorian style house like she always did after sunset. The air was cool against her skin and had no problem unlocking the window. She effortlessly slid in and smiled at seeing the one place familiar to her. Sure, Billy could have given her a key but what was the fun with that? They were all about living in the moment, in the now, wrapped up in their own adrenaline. Phyllis had a long past so being spontaneous. So, living in the present was precious to her. Her heeled red shoes padded the room decorated in colours of black, white, silver and a touch of red for her.

She expected Billy's sleeping form in the dark, expected to pull off her shoes and slip into his bed. He didn't act surprised, but greeted her with a kiss that said _I missed you_. She expected him to pull her close to him and then kiss with another that said _stay._ So, she did. Phyllis stayed. She stayed in the arms of a man and under a roof that, for the first time, in decades, felt like home. Sometimes, Phyllis watched Billy sleep long after the sex was over even though the feelings of his hands and lips against her body were still felt. She stared at his serene look on his face with the jaw she liked to press kisses on. She excepted his warmth but it was cold tonight. His bed was cold and empty. The whole house was deathly quiet. A cold chill ran up her spine and the frustration of not seeing what she expected, enraged her. Tonight wasn't like the others. She wouldn't be home with Billy's warmth next to her and around. She wouldn't get to rest and listen to his heartbeat all night as he slept. Phyllis wouldn't get to be lulled to sleep by it for a little bit before she woke up before dawn. Phyllis also realized she wouldn't get to write that familiar note of _I'll be back_ and left it on his night table. She wouldn't get to kiss Billy goodbye until the next night. She would not be greeted by a kiss that said hello. This was her routine and for someone who bounced from variable to variable and from earthquake to tornado to volcanic eruption, Phyllis treasured this kind of stability. In the darkness, she sank into the bed and brought a pillow to her nose. She inhaled, taking in the scent of his body wash.

In the dark, Phyllis craved the intimate routine only in the space big enough for the two of them. In that same darkness, she felt tears of panic come to her eyes but rage that was searing and murderous pushed them back. She screamed, ripping that pillow in half. Someone tilted her balance with Billy. Someone took her a pattern of moments with him that was everything to her. Someone had taken Billy. Billy Abbott was _her_ everything.

—

On one of these special patterned nights, Phyllis stayed awake and wrapped up in his bed sheets. As always, they had sex that was all-consuming, intense and uncontrollable they drowned in it. Billy made her feel ironically alive. He had her safe when she was used to danger and sometimes, went searching for it. More than anything, Billy made her feel loved when she had a hardened sharpness that prevented that emotion – or any emotion – from getting too close to her.

Phyllis watched his face break out into a sleepy smile before his eyes opened to look up at her.

"Stop watching me sleep."

Phyllis traced a smooth circle on his chest, smiling mischievously, "You haven't learned?"

"Learned what?" he replied, following her line of humour. Phyllis appreciated that he kept up with her because he matched her. Billy Abbott was a spinning tornado all on his own. He shot for the moon and said screw it and he missed and ripped the stars down when he fell.

"Not to tell me what to do. I'm not amused, Abbott."

"Maybe," Billy pulled himself up into a sitting position and pulled her on top of him. She let him, even if she was much stronger than him. He ran a hand through her hair before he yanked her head back, and kissed her neck repeatedly. It made her delirious, made her dizzy. It made Phyllis crave him in a way that was deeper than the emotional and more powerful than the sexual. He pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth, before claiming it. She wanted Billy. She wanted all of him and wanted every part of him. Phyllis even wanted the part of Billy she knew she shouldn't but was part of her nature. He stared up at her with darkened brown eyes that carried desire in them. They spoke to her again, as his heart raced under her hands and she could almost feel his blood burn hot in his veins, "just maybe… I like learning everything about you, Summers. Everything."

Phyllis turned serious, immediately realizing what he meant. What he was asking of her.

"Billy…"

"I said I loved all of you, Phyllis," he whispered, stroking the apple of her cheek and his eyes shined. They were beautifully honest and they stripped her bare. "I meant that. I want to see all of you."

Phyllis stared at him in awe and glanced down, staring at the one she shouldn't before she met the part of him she could stare into forever and a day. His eyes. Sometimes, Phyllis wondered if they could be like this following time that stretched beyond 24 hours and the conventional constraints of days, months, and years were useless.

"I'll hurt you. I'll _kill_ you," she answered, and said resolutely, and adamantly. "No."

"I want you to do this for me," Billy said, as adamantly and sure as her. He was so fucking stubborn. It was endearing and maddening, even though she could be stubborn too. Still, it was irritating. Phyllis wanted to love him, and just be with him. Not this. No matter how loudly her head screamed for it and how much need she had for what lay beneath his soft skin. Phyllis could feel her nerves being stretched. He softened and continued, "I want this, and so do you. We suck at normal. This, right here, is our normal. This moment is my normal. With you."

Phyllis stared at him in silence before she kissed him. It wasn't one of the kisses that were casual or ones that Phyllis treasured. It was one that was selfish because she wanted Billy for herself. It was one that was reckless and greedy. Billy kissed with the same fervor and it was all a blur. It was a blur she settled into with him and caused because of him. Billy was pushing her over the edge but he gripped her roughly enough to let her know, he'd fall with her. He had fallen because of her.

His scent was intoxicating and addictive. It was under his skin, a steady hum in her ears and was slowly getting louder and sounding a vacuum.

Phyllis couldn't do it anymore.

She couldn't hold the dam inside of her and keep it from breaking. It held the part of her that made her a little more irrational, more wild than she was and a lot more dangerous. Still, Phyllis loved Billy. Still, she loved him and she held to that constant thread in a space that made sense to her but didn't at the same time. How the hell could Billy ask her to trust anything when it was foreign to her? How could someone seen as a mess through the world's eyes, be damn near perfect in hers? However, it wasn't wired in Phyllis' mental, and emotional design to hold back anything.

So, she didn't. Phyllis' inner dam exploded, her primal, feral nature coming to the fore.

She let her fangs show themselves and bit Billy to get to the crimson currents in him. Phyllis felt Billy tense under her and then relax, his hand in her hair. He was warm, metallic and sweet. His blood was the embodiment of him. Billy Abbott was warm and passionate. He was metallic. She could taste his bruises, his pain, and scars on her tongue. Billy Abbott was sweet in the way he found new ways to make her smile, make her laugh, irritate her, frustrate her, love her and give her a feeling of joy that was soothing to her soul.

—

Phyllis turned on the light, the room as it always was. Quiet rage ceased her. Something had disrupted her status quo. Someone had made fear and worry churn in her gut even though she was unsure of its origin. Someone had shifted her new normal with Billy and someone was going to pay for it. She scanned the room, ran into the adjoining bathroom where everything was as it was, disorganized as it was.

She stepped back into the bedroom after stomping through the rest of a house that had become instinctually familiar to her.

"Damnit, Billy!" she screamed, angry that the scent of his aftershave lingered in the air and assaulted her when he was nowhere to be found. "Where the hell are you?"

Phyllis cursed, punching a mirror that reflected loneliness to her. Bloody cuts appeared on her knuckles and her fingers when the glass shattered under her full strength. They had healed as quickly as they came. In the silence, Phyllis couldn't hear Billy's steady breathing and picture the fall and rise of his chest. She couldn't sharpen her hearing to find the steady rhythm of a beating heart that was given to her to hold and keep, despite it being battered.

She stormed over the window and threw it open. The night air blew against her skin as she jumped out, gravity not as quick and heavy for her. It made her land effortlessly on her bright red Jimmy Choo pumps. Phyllis let her stoicism drive her need to get to Billy and kill whoever had taken him.

Phyllis stood in his front yard and gazed at a house across the street before she looked behind her to find Billy's driveway empty. That house would have a direct view of who had been in the vicinity of the house even though Billy obviously hadn't been taken from there. Everything was untouched and neat.

With laser focus, Phyllis sped over to that house and knocked, rapidly.

She could have broken her way in, but she had to take her time to make sure her rage was steady enough to let shades of rationality come through. Phyllis wouldn't bother to find patience. Phyllis didn't get along with it.

She plastered a smile on her face and knocked again, but louder until the door shook.

"Fuck it," Phyllis hissed angrily, letting the rage shove the rationale away. She kicked the door and at full strength, the door splintered and its gold hinges cracked. She slammed the door and met the annoyed, wide-eyed gaze of a college student. Phyllis saw the girl with a messy blonde bun on the top of her head, grey sweats and a GCU shirt. Her lips parted before they twisted into an annoyed pout which grated Phyllis further.

"Can I help you?" she questioned, annoyed and nearly yelling at her. "You broke my _fucking_ door—"

Phyllis cut her off but roughly, grabbing her by the throat and pining her against a wall. The girl squirmed and kicked against her grasp while making choking sounds in the back of her throat. She could feel this girl's windpipe twist and bend in her grip and if Phyllis didn't get any damn answers, she'd snap her neck.

"You're going to tell me what I need to know. You will not lie to me. Do you understand me?" Phyllis ordered, quietly, staring into those blue eyes. She was compelling her, making this college girl's mind become submissive to her control. The kicking and resistance stopped, slowly but surely. Phyllis let her go as the blonde's eyes became a vacant, glassy blue. She nodded, numbly. "Good girl. Let's start with something easy."

—

"What's your name?"

"Brielle Andersen."

"How old are you?"

"I'm 21 years old."

Phyllis continued her line of questioning, "Do you know who your neighbour across the street is?"

Brielle blinked, and spoke again, "I know him vaguely. Billy… Billy Abbott."

Phyllis nodded slowly, "Right," she started into those empty blue oceans again and asked in a slow tone that left her anger trigger the urge to rip this slender girl to tiny pieces. It clawed at her stomach, her hunger growing and stretching itself. "He's missing. Do you know who took him?"

Brielle maintained her detached voice. "No. I do not."

Phyllis looked at Brielle and really look at her. She studied every part of his girl's face for any deceit. She scanned for any trace of a lie and gazed into her eyes for a spark of falsehood. She closed her eyes and truly tried to understand what the hell had happened. Phyllis tried to fill in the holes, fix the gaps and fuse the pieces together. She couldn't. Phyllis' hands curled into fists and the rage burst forth as a roaring, screaming beast until it clouded her head and saturated her senses.

She rounded on Brielle and gripped her throat again. Phyllis wondered what it was like to break a beauty queen in her hands. So she did, Phyllis buried her fangs into Brielle's throat, recklessly and to the soundtrack of her high pitched screams, took her blood greedily. She wanted it all so she took it. Phyllis tasted her fear most of all, and she savoured it in her throat. It went down smoothly and when there was nothing left, a loud crack sounded in the air that left Phyllis angry yet satisfied. She did what she said she would. Brielle gave her no answers so Phyllis did, in fact, break her neck.

Brielle was innocent and had done nothing, in theory. However, Phyllis was angry, frustrated and hungry. Shit happened.

She watched Brielle's form collapse in a heap at her feet, her throat ripped out.

Phyllis simply stepped over the body, walked out of the house.

Glancing up at the sky, the moon was a crescent today. Clouds hid it. Phyllis looked to her left and let her sight stretch as far as it could to find the blue and ivory she'd invaded many times for her own amusement. She envisioned it and the annoyed look in the brunette's light blue eyes and the witch's protests as Phyllis shoved her way in anyway. It was funny to watch the frustration settle in Victoria's body and sometimes, her fiancé mediated, bless that werewolf heart of his (not really), but her shits and giggles were important. Usually, they were. Usually, Phyllis appreciated toying with Reed as he invented new ways to attempt to kill her. She looked forward to his new attempt. At least, the kid was creative. She wouldn't admit it, but Phyllis liked to intrude the house because she had a sort of soft spot for Johnny and Katie.

When she climbed a window, Phyllis usually alternated through Johnny and Katie's bedrooms because they had gotten used to her and weren't scared of her. Sometimes, they smiled at her and greeted her. Johnny and Katie had an innocence about them that Phyllis found endearing. This was how things usually went and this was the cycle in which she found herself with Victoria. Would there be the same dynamic in which she pushed Victoria's magical buttons only to have the witch push back just as hard? Yes.

There was another serious reason why she found herself intertwined with Victoria. Like her, Victoria knew things about Billy that was parallel to her knowledge and sometimes perpendicular to it. They both knew Billy's mannerisms, knew his habits, knew what he held in this big heart of his, and knew how important it was that Victoria grab her damn broom and help her find Billy. So, like she always did, Phyllis sped off to Victoria's house to enter it through the front door, for once, for a serious and important reason Victoria was going to understand. Despite the push and pull of her weird dynamic with the witch, Phyllis knew Victoria would be on the same wavelength as her. As she used speed too fast for human eyes to push herself forward. Phyllis, despite herself, found a reason to smile because she anticipated toying with Victoria in between finding herself trapped in another serious aspect of Billy with her again.

Phyllis willed herself to speed just a little faster.

The quicker she got to Victoria's house, the quicker she could get to Billy to save him, and herself.


	2. 1: The Puzzle

**The Ghost of You**  
 **summary:** "If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Puzzle**

Billy had a choice here. He could have shut his mouth and shook this man's hand. He could have made some crack about having a name like Marco because who the fuck did that? It was a serious question. With a name like Marco, Billy made the conclusion that his parents – if Marco had any to begin with – hated him. He stared at the large hand held directly in front of him and back at Marco's face. Marco merely smiled and put his hand away, amused.

"You've seen my face. It's a lot to process, Billy. I take no offence."

Billy chuckled and it turned into a laugh, "That's really great of you, Marco. It's not like I'm offended you've kidnapped me," he continued, gesturing around the white that encircled him. Billy wished Johnny and Katherine would show up and run around assaulting everything with Sharpies. "This, here, is five star living."

Marco shrugged, loosely and walked over to the cot. He patted the spot next to him.

"Join me. We have much to discuss."

"Let's start with your stupid name, then. Marco? Seriously?" Billy laughed again, and asked hopefully but not in any way that showed he cared. "Please tell me your middle name is Polo."

Marco's face turned pensive with a long pause that left Billy able to hear his own heartbeat, "I could threaten to break your legs for being a nuisance, but you're too amusing for that. But you know, something, your brother. Jack. Good man. The Abbotts are good stock," he continued, walking forward to him. "Now, how many ways do you think I could disrupt that? I could start youngest to oldest. Johnny and Katie are quite adorable. It would be a shame losing the surviving ones soon enough after Delia. What a tragic circumstance—"

Billy's heart pounded not because he was scared. It wasn't beating because of being slightly claustrophobic. He just didn't like being boxed in, aside from the odd times Billy worked through late nights pushed by caffeine and magazine deadlines. He didn't mind being claustrophobia being kinky when Phyllis trapped him in the Restless Style elevator and they had amazing sex. Marco didn't cause his heart to cause his heart to race because of adrenaline. It raced because of anger and more than anything, grief that had trickled up and parental instinct. He was crazy. Billy was fucking insane. He chose insanity when remembering Delia. Billy was fine protecting Johnny and Katie. It was the sanest, clearest decision he ever made.

It was why Billy decided to take his biggest and deadliest risk yet and swung. He swung for saving Delia's memory, for protecting Johnny and Katie, for his own sanity and for Phyllis and whatever sick, fucked up connection Marco may have had with her. Was his going to get his ass kicked? Yes. Did he care? No. Not when every thought, every life moment, every future expectation, and every instance of failure unraveled.

As usual, Billy failed and grit his teeth as Marco caught his fist and could almost feel the bones in his wrist rubbing against each other until they could have broke in Marco's grip. He fought against the pain before another pain he wasn't prepared for exploding in his side from the full force of Marco's shoe. Billy grunted, crumbling to the floor not sure if the cracking he heard was real or imagined. He began to see black dots in his vision before it blurred. Billy forced himself to breathe, hearing himself wheeze and he winced, tasting blood in his mouth.

He focused on Marco and coughed.

Marco crouched down to meet his eyes and slapped his face twice hard.

"I apologize," he said, grinning with nothing in his eyes. "I didn't intend this."

Billy grimaced in pain but still smiled. He leaned against the wall and held his side. It was difficult to breathe and still, the wheezing remained.

"This?" Billy replied, with an easy smile when nothing about this was easy. He added, dismissively like Marco had asked what the sports scores were. "Just a scratch. I'll live."

Billy winced and groaned, sure a couple of ribs were broken. Snapped like twigs, really.

He glared, anger in his chest. Billy spat a bloody glob of saliva on Marco's shoes and wiped a shaking hand across his mouth. It left the back of his hand streaked with red. He coughed, spitting up more blood and it splattered against the stark white floor. His lungs felt as though they were being compressed with an invisible hand.

"Didn't mean to do that either," Billy answered coolly, with a sarcastic laugh and saw a flash of Phyllis over Marco's shoulder. He was dying, probably. Billy knew he wasn't dying because St. Peter would be that annoying cockblocker who would stop him from fucking Marilyn Monroe. Satan would probably get a little too friendly and invade his fiery personal space. He was a habitual fuck up, not dark-hearted. Billy's breathing was ragged and his vision floated in and out, but still, he met Marco with brown eyes that flashed with renewed rage.

Marco never lost that chilling smile and prepared himself to tell a tale that made Billy hope that Miranda would come back.

Billy winced once again and shifted his weight to deal with the pain.

"I like my popcorn with salt and extra butter if you're going to bore me senseless."

—

Victoria sighed, exhausted and combed her hair back with a hand. Reed was asleep or at least faking asleep with one of her good kitchen knives in his grasp. She debated taking it from his hands but her son's reflexes were extremely sharp and his reactions were instant and automatic. She was relieved to see his peaceful face as he slept and his limbs spilled out from underneath the covers. He had been endowed with the responsibilities and abilities as his father and JT was helping him through them. Reed's body was lanky and her son had a tendency to brood. But he had a girlfriend in Mattie Ashby, complained about school, was a great big brother to Johnny and Katie, drove her nutty with his playlist but she was used to it. He went to adolescent angst, was sweet when he wanted to be but had a trigger temper. Despite Reed's high aptitude in fighting and his capabilities when it came to weaponry, Victoria was grateful for the instances of normalcy.

Johnny had finally fallen asleep after four stories, and a snuggle when he had woken from a bad dream triggered by missing his dad. Johnny had told her something hurt him. When Victoria had asked where, he pointed to the side of his stomach. _Daddy's tummy hurts_ , were his exact words. He was five yet he was an extraordinary boy. Her son was full of silliness, brought laughter to other people, and was a little goofball. His full scope of his magic hadn't developed until a year ago. It started with a compulsive need to draw. Although Johnny was a ball of energy who didn't tire out, he exhibited a kind of stillness when he submerged himself into a mental space of paper and crayons. He had laser focus and serious concentration on his little face for long periods of time when he drew. Victoria watched her son spending hours in a pile of paper and alternating between different colours of crayons and paint until he created a moving rainbow. Victoria now understood that Johnny was clairvoyant, channeling that power through his drawings. His magic had the ability to turn someone inside out and reveal another's true emotions, now with the added layer of seeing auras and healing people by simply touching them.

Katherine wasn't scared like Johnny, or peacefully asleep like Reed. Instead, she was wide awake and irritable. Her emotions were too powerful. Her magic was too big to contain within her little body. Victoria made attempts to calm her daughter down with stories – five of them, that Twinkle Song Reed usually sang to her, promises to take her to stables to see her unicorn, Cinnamon, tomorrow and snuggling her to calm her down. She wanted Daddy and she wanted Daddy now. Katherine screamed while in tears. A framed photo of her and Billy on the night cracked as it flew from the night table and hit her door. Her lamp broke and the wall clock slid off the floor and shattered in an explosion of plastic and glass. Victoria was stern and then gentle with as Katherine quieted down, her sobs turning to hiccups. Katherine was, in some ways, more advanced than her brother. She understood the idea of a spell but most times, carved a path in magic that was erratic and unpredictable. Sometimes, it was impressive. Sometimes, it was disturbing and frightening. Either way, Victoria was working on something to control Katie's magic and funnel it.

Victoria could have gone to bed where a sleeping Travis lay usually. He wasn't there tonight. She could have slid into bed and snuggled into him only to have him place his hand against the small of her back and pull her in with a sleepy _I love you_ said in the dark. She could slow her racing mind, speeding with thoughts of magic and Brash  & Sassy related things down by listening to his steady heartbeat. She could have fallen sleep peacefully and woken up relatively sane. But she couldn't. She turned over the crayon filled drawing Johnny had given her. It's about Daddy, he'd told her before falling asleep in his bed. Victoria turned it over, once then twice while turning to go downstairs for some solitude. _Billy._ She could feel it. Something was wrong. Something was rattling her when she sat on the bottom stairs, closed her eyes and tried to conjure up a picture of her ex-husband in her head. Victoria couldn't and she cursed quietly, frustrated even though she was unaware of the origin. All she knew was that it wasn't hers. It wasn't her emotion, but one that had been channeled through her. Victoria got up from the stair and effortlessly turned on her living room light with a wave of her hand. She walked over to her couch, sinking into it and inhaled before unfolding the drawing.

"Okay," Victoria sighed, her blue eyes determined. "What's wrong with Daddy, Johnny?"

When she opened it, Victoria scanned it. Her azure eyes scanned Johnny's crayon lines, his coloured swirls and his drawn circles. Victoria deciphered a house, a structure of sorts. She racked her brain for any spell hidden between the pages of a grimoire passed down from generations of witches and warlocks in her bloodline but they raced, running too fast for her to catch up. She could recite an old Latin incantation from memory from the words fell from her lips before she could string them together. She stared at the figure drawn together through the eyes of her son. Dark hair, awkwardly drawn shirt and pants and a disproportionately large head. In the frenzy of something she felt was serious, Victoria bit back a smile. Billy _did_ have a big head and for all the years she'd known him, humility wasn't something he grasped. Red crayoned puddles were splattered around the figure and something rattled in her lungs.

She was so entrenched in this drawing that she didn't see headlights illuminate her window. Victoria was wrapped up in emotions of annoyance, and little bits of fear running through her that she didn't hear the distant sharp sound of jingling of keys. Victoria stood, and walked over the window. She pulled her purple satin robe close to her body when goosebumps broke out on her skin. When Travis snuck behind her and playfully poked in the sides, she jumped and a glass figure shattered. She'd clean up the glass later.

"You scared me," she told him, and then with the drawing in her hands went into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Sorry. I'm just tired."

Travis separated from her, kissing her cheek before a curious look came on his face. He gestured to the piece of paper in her hands and took it from her.

"Johnny drew it," Victoria explained, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Today?"

"Yeah," she answered, with a sigh and touched her hair to get rid of her nervous energy. The warmth of her magic hummed underneath her fingertips. "He finally managed to get to sleep after having a serious of bad dreams. He wanted Billy and told me his stomach hurt."

He opened it and stared at the drawing. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head in the silence. Victoria could have opened the door to his thoughts but chose to keep it closed. It was his, and she couldn't quite keep hers straight. She needed to concentrate. Victoria needed to focus and silence the magic coiling itself around her spine and rushing to her head. Travis handed the drawing over to her and gently took her hand so she could sit with him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and in his eyes, Victoria could find some kind of serenity. She wanted it more than anything tonight, but couldn't find it. All she could do worry about Billy for her children's sake, and on some level, herself.

"Wanna know what I think?"

"Please. I'm terrified, to be honest. Katherine was so irritable tonight. She got so angry because she wanted Billy that she tore her room to pieces. My two-year-old destroyed her room. Her magic is too big for her to handle," she sighed, exasperated. "I'm her mother and I don't know how to deal with it or fix it. My daughter is on her way to being a literal bomb, Travis."

"Hey, hey," Travis reassured her, gently. "Think of it as the Terrible Twos for the supernatural. She hates when her food touches, wants to wear different coloured shoes on each foot, wants to wear a tutu and tiara in public. I mean, she's only two but in the short time I've known her, I think she's figuring herself out in her own way. As for Johnny's drawing, he's an intuitive kid. I get the feeling he's trying to tell you Billy may be in trouble."

She groaned, rubbing her temple. "I had a feeling myself," she added, confessing to her fiancé. "My visions came back."

Travis blinked in surprise, knowing Victoria only got those when it was triggered by stress or something about to go wrong. She had confessed to him tearfully that her marriage to Billy truly broke because she saw Delia die before it happened. Victoria didn't tell him for fear of breaking his heart but it was too late because Billy went and broke hers. Now, Victoria twisted her aquamarine and diamond engagement ring on her finger to focus her mind elsewhere. She wanted to focus on shopping for her wedding dress with her mom and Abby next week. It was futile.

"When?"

"Tonight. When you left to go be with Sharon."

"Yeah, I had to be because she's all moody. Full moon problems."

"I know. Nick texted me. It's a full house at The Underground so he has an excuse to leave her be."

She exhaled and touched her hair with a heaving sigh and shifted her body to rest her bare feet on Travis' lap. He glanced down and let him rub her feet. His thumbs worked the arches of her foot and when he tickled the bottom of it, she pulled her foot away from her him laughing. Travis was always playful with her, but he was strong, kind and patient. They were both temperamental in their arguments and she found herself at impasses with him where neither one of them would budge. But when the dust settled, Victoria found that she could always understand where he was coming from even when she didn't agree with it. the dynamic was very mutual. She could see the sky between the blinds at the desk. It was dark and cloudy. The moon was a thin crescent as if a broken fingernail had been suspended in the sky. When he tickled her foot, Victoria pulled it away but Travis caught up and in one fluid pulled her into his lap. She left her arms fall around his neck and he smiled up at her.

"What do you think you're doing?" Victoria questioned with a smile that matched his. Of course, a full moon was tomorrow. Travis and Sharon were siblings, part of the same bloodline that had given them their lycanthropy on both sides. They were odd siblings. Even though they were full ones, Travis had taken up his mother's last name while Sharon chose to use their father's. While Sharon's moods were erratic, Victoria had a man whose emotional spectrum was more acute and felt deeper than normal. Victoria had met a bar on the edge of town when a particularly trying day at Brash and Sassy on top of dealing with Katie setting another child's dollhouse on fire. There were her magical problems but those could be fixed. It was the real life problems and life struggles that strangled her. That day, they had laughed and talked so long that they had lost track of time. Travis was easy to talk and easy to be with. Suddenly, Victoria found herself enjoying his company so much, the weight of her days didn't feel so heavy.

She instantly felt like he had met him before. Maybe they had in a past life, but Victoria was intrigued by him. He made a joke about Thoreau and instantly, she laughed and it felt good. Travis gave her magic that didn't come from a spell book and she knew. Victoria knew she needed and wanted to be with him forever, for all his quirks, flaws, stubbornness that clashed with her hers and a temper that was as hot as hers. Victoria appreciated that her Type A behavior complimented his Type B personality and therefore, they balanced each other.

"Because I really have to let you know something."

"Which is what?" Victoria inquired, with a raised brow and a quiet laugh. "I'm very curious."

"Just that I met this girl and I'm in love with her."

Victoria played along, feigning jealousy. "She can't be that great."

"Oh, but she is. She's fierce, sexy and has the biggest heart. She's an incredible mother and she's got these stunning blue eyes that remind me of an ocean that sparkles when sunlight touches it," Travis said, fingering a lock of her tousled hair. He kissed her and she smiled against his lips. She pulled away with a coy smile.

"Tell me more about this girl you're in love with."

"Well, she's going to be my wife really soon," he replied, smoothly. It was in a way that made him very attractive. There was also a cool confidence about Travis that intrigued her and made her excited to have him for the rest of her life. "I'm going to marry her."

Victoria chuckled quietly and stroked his face. "Well, I foresee this woman of yours and she may be as excited to marry you as you are."

"Do you see foresee her not waiting for our honeymoon?"

Victoria nodded, and replied seductively, "Yes," she pressed another kiss, slow and lingering. She could feel his heart race under her palm, "and she doesn't want to wait either."

"Good."

Travis' grin was brilliant as it split his face and then he kissed her again. She looked at his sky and then found herself enthralled by the most beautiful shade of amber in his eyes. Victoria imagined her wedding even though she didn't know what it would be and when. She imagined forever with Travis even though she had no idea what that would entail. He craved _I love yous_ into her skin and she wrote _yes I'll marry you a thousand times into_ his. Her magic wasn't erratic. It wasn't buzzing under her skin. Instead, it rested in her body, slow dropping like a kind of morphine only Travis could give her.

"You smell really, really good," he said, with a hint of a growl, pressing his lips to her collarbone. Victoria heard her own breathless laughter. She would have laughed but its escape into the expanse was stopped by Travis' lips claiming hers.

It was intoxicating and while Travis' five senses were heightened tonight, hers were dulled.

Victoria was in smoke but it evaporated quickly when she felt Travis bristle and sighed, exasperated. He glared in the direction of the back door by the kitchen, his eyes hard and the colour a stormy sea. She pulled herself into a sitting position and it took a while for her head to clear. Victoria's exhaled breaths came out shaky and she looked at her fiancée in concern. Travis raked his hair with a hand thorugh his hair and Victoria didn't have the emotional time to find amusement in the way it stood up in awkward angles.

"What's wrong?"

"I smell Phyllis' perfume."

Annoyance bubbled in Victoria's chest and burst out like a firecracker. When Victoria cursed out loud, the house shook lightly under her and around her. The folded piece of paper with Johnny's crayon drawing burst into a small fire, steadily engulfing it until it darkened. The flame extinguished gradually but Victoria's annoyance didn't.

Travis sighed and counted, "Three, two…"

" _What the hell, Phyllis_? My children are sleeping!" Victoria yelled, with all of the outrage she could muster at the sound of breaking glass. "Did you break my sliding door?" she turned to Travis. "Oh my God, she broke my door!"

He shrugged, still shirtless and met Victoria's gaze. "Yeah. I got nothin'."

—

In her defense, Phyllis did use the door instead of climbing through Johnny or Katie's window. A small part of her wished she did. They were used to her being around and could have grown to even like her. They were in bed every time but not as asleep. They were either wide awake or would wake up still in the middle of sleep. When Phyllis saw the peaceful looks on their faces, she couldn't help but smile softly. When she was feeling brave, she touched their heads and touched the soft hair on it. Then she would take her hand back and place it on her abdomen, her womb empty for a number of years too painful to count. Her grief was so heavy so with time, Phyllis made herself strong enough to not crumble under its weight. Seeing Johnny and Katie, as much as she liked them, made her feel its strain.

She didn't want to count the minutes that turned to hours that could have turned into days. Phyllis stopped caring about time because it was all blurred together. She could afford to do that alone but she couldn't run and leave Billy behind. Billy was still missing, She stepped through the glass, wincing at the kitchen knife embedded in her shoulder courtesy of Reed. Turned out the kid was getting smarter after all. Phyllis caught the arrow heading her heart, not prepared for one of Victoria's kitchen knife burying itself to the hilt in her shoulder. She could have effortlessly ripped that little heart out of his chest, but like his mother, Phyllis found Reed too amusing. Reed merely smirked, shrugged and jumped from his window to the tree near his bedroom and jumped down to the ground. Smirking back at Reed, she winked at him and merely said, "Let's do this again, kid."

Reed rolled his eyes and walked towards his car, putting his crossbow in the trunk and drove off down the street. Phyllis wasn't curious enough to care. Phyllis winced and cursed as she pulled the knife out of her shoulder. She instantly healed and rubbed the spot.

" _Did you break my sliding door_?"

Phyllis walked into the living room, lightly tossing the bloody knife on the table. She smiled, meeting Victoria's gaze and Travis' hair sticking up at odd angles as he pulled his shirt over his head. Victoria blew out a breath and crossed her arms.

"Say abracadabra and fix it," Phyllis said, dismissively. "Hey, Travis. Mazel tov."

She watched the werewolf's face go into a mixture of exasperation and annoyance.

"Thank you?"

"What now?"

Phyllis glanced at the burnt piece of paper on the table and then back at the witch.

"Clearly, you know Billy's missing."

"Yes," Victoria admitted, looking back at her fiancé and then back at her. "We both do. I put the pieces together when Johnny drew something for me. He told me – through that drawing – that Billy was trapped somewhere and bleeding. I knew he was right because my visions came back. It's hard to go back to bed where the kids are irritable and wanting their father," she added, rubbing her head with a sigh. "I kept seeing white walls but it wasn't clear to me. Johnny said his stomach hurt and when I asked him where he pointed to his side."

Travis continued, and Phyllis didn't have time to ooh and aww over how they were able to finish each other's sentences, "Basically, this is what it comes down to. Billy's trapped and hurt. I just don't think it was random, though. He was targeted."

Phyllis focused on him and then shifted it back to Victoria.

"Well, he's back at Restless Style exposed to a wide spectrum of people. I'm not getting that he's being held by someone he pissed off by reporting something," Victoria theorized. "And believe me, he has. Repeatedly, but this is different. I felt frustrated but fearful but they weren't _my_ feelings. They were _Billy's_ emotions."

"Okay," Phyllis said, impatiently and walked around Victoria and Travis to the front door. The little patience she had snapped as effortlessly as Brielle's neck in her grasp. She ripped it open and shot a pointed look at Travis. "Be useful and help me track him or do I have to tell you to sit, heel or roll over for you to move?"

Travis smiled at her sarcastically, and laughed, "That's a good one because yes, I can absolutely pluck Billy's scent out of thin air. Not likely I would something of his or anything."

"Maybe if I threw a branch hard enough, you'll actually walk."

"I could kill you. You know this," Travis shot back, in that cool manner Phyllis hated, especially right now. In the century she'd been living – although, she really hadn't in that way – she knew werewolf bites could cause a vampire to die slowly and painfully. She knew this, but she also knew the sky was blue, wet. Phyllis knew blood was wet and her favourite type was O negative. "Of course, fetch would be fun times, but make sure it's Black Oak. That's my favourite type."

Phyllis also knew she'd also be dead. She sighed, desperately holding to whatever restraint she had. Phyllis only did because she could be free to let her restraint break to pieces on top of Billy. She could be as wild as she wanted with him because in his own way, he was just as dangerous as her. When she felt herself being burned against the heat and acidity of her edges, Billy's touch fell on her skin like snow and cooled her down. It softened her so she wouldn't be hurt.

"Stop it!" Victoria snapped, eyes flashing. "This doesn't help Billy!"

There was a pause in the air before Victoria exhaled.

Phyllis watched Victoria touch Travis' shoulder. "Think you can find Billy if you and Sharon work together? I know she's all weepy and moody—"

"Sharon always been moody, and a mess of blonde hair and doe eyes," Phyllis interjected.

They both ignored her. Phyllis wondered off to play with a glass figurine on the table close to the couch before sinking down into it. She hummed, absentmindedly taking a black clickable pen from the small side table near the couch. She set the figurine back down. Phyllis turned the slender black pen around in her hands before she began to click it. The sound was sharp but steady so she continued to click the top of the pen, repeatedly until it became a beat she could sing to. So, she did.

Phyllis felt the annoyed gazes of the engaged couple on her. She stopped singing and looked at them with feigned surprise and false innocence.

"What?"

Travis glared at her before he turned to Victoria and kissed her.

"Keep me in the loop?"

Victoria nodded and gave him a kiss of her own before smiling at him.

"Of course. Please be careful and come home to me."

Travis kissed her cheek. "Always."

Phyllis felt a stab of envy she would bury inside of her. Still she wished, vowed and cursed at him, hoping he heard her. She imagined that charming smart-ass smirk on his lips and resisted the urge to laugh. _I'm coming, Billy. I'm fucking coming. Don't get yourself killed or I'll kill you, you perfect dumbass. You're my dumbass. I love you, Abbott._

Travis grabbed his car keys, and Phyllis stopped him with a look of annoyance.

"What the hell kind of werewolf are you? Seriously, you can't shift or something and track Billy quicker?"

"I'm the kind that wants coffee. I'm the kind that's annoyed and tired but is going to help find Billy because Johnny and Katie need him. Frankly," Travis replied, clearly out of patience and thoroughly irked. She stared at him, defiantly, unbothered, "I'm the kind that needs to leave because you've successfully driven me crazy."

Phyllis grinned as Travis left the house closing the door behind him.

She turned to Victoria as she settled on the couch and crossed her legs.

"Temperamental canine, that one. Yikes."

Victoria sighed, and rolled her eyes before she moved to where her basement was. Phyllis knew this was where Victoria put a bunch of boring, tedious ingredients together with concentration. The silence made drove her crazy, and sometimes hungry, which made her cranky. The witch grabbed two baby monitors she still used to watch her children, even though Johnny and Katie weren't babies anymore. Phyllis understood that they were used when Victoria was down there and needed to work if there was no one close enough to watch them.

Victoria stopped mid-step and turned to her with a raised brow.

"Coming?" she inquired. The witch beamed at her. "Combustum!"

Phyllis sat there until she felt sharp heat hit her leg, and a flame scorched her red Jimmy Choo shoe. She stood and cursed as the flame burned through her skin and turned the vibrant red colour of her shoe black. She lifted her foot and blew at them until they slowly extinguished. The burned and slightly peeled skin of her shin gradually healed and became skin again. She glanced at her burned shoe and then glared at Victoria, eyes flashing red.

"You. Burned. My. Shoe," she ground out, narrowing her eyes.

The brunette witch looked her, ice in her eyes.

"You. Broke. My. Door. Now, I'm going to go do this tracking spell, and you're going to behave and help me."

Phyllis crossed her arms, defiant, "If I don't?"

Victoria glanced down at the unburned shoe on her other foot.

"Combu—"

"Okay! God…" Phyllis shouted, and stomped over to the basement door, following Victoria as she stopped into Victoria's weird ass magic lair. She exhaled a cleansing breath, which didn't work. Looking to the far left of her, she saw the wall and a pretty brunette. Her eyes were wide with fear as she struggled against the chains on both her wrists. Phyllis could hear the girl's heart racing which meant her blood was warm and fresh. She smiled. "Aw. You truly get me, Victoria."

Victoria busied herself with grabbing a couple heavy, worn books in her arms. She dropped them on the long rectangular cold, stone table. Phyllis watched the witch tap her fingers against her lips in concentration before she slid a black box off a shelf and placed that on the table too. Then the witch walked over to a rack not affected by the brunette's sharp screaming and pleads for release. Victoria retrieved two medium sized vials of blood and a rolled-up map of Wisconsin in her arms, dropping those items on the long stone table.

Blue eyes met her before busying herself with preparing to start whatever tracking spell she'd do to find the man they both cared about. Phyllis cared about Billy as her partner, lover and match in every way that mattered. She also knew Billy lay in the space of Victoria's heart designated for someone's best friend, co-parent who was grateful for the two children sleeping upstairs and a feeling of gratitude for the good memories in between a chapter in their lives with the bad memories in between. Phyllis knew that kind of chapter ran parallel to Victoria's history with Billy and perpendicular to hers, but for once, they were on the same side.

"No. It's just incentive, Phyllis," Victoria replied, quickly flipping through browned pages of the first heavy book on the table. The cover was brown, bearing the image of the Newman family crescent. The second, Phyllis noticed, was black with the sign of a pentagram on its front. She raised her gaze to her again, putting a loose lock of her dark hair behind an ear. "You help me and not irritate me, you get her. While you feed, I can concentrate and be productive. Can you get those candles for me?"

Phyllis paused and after a beat, sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Where are they?"


	3. 2: The Slow Unraveling

**The Ghost of You  
Summary: **"If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica. [AU]  
note: this is the longest chapter yet. There was a lot of cover so I did that. Forgive any typos. I'm tired and will do a better edit when my brain is not mush. Enjoy! And thanks for the feedback.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Slow Unraveling**

A woman's heeled shoes took slow steps between long aisles of book shelves. She was filled to the brim with knowledge but she read to pass the time. Piercing light green eyes scanned heavy volumes of this and that, and slender fingers run themselves across dusty covers and worm spines. Some of them she read and flipped through, and others she had scanned. The green eyes narrowed in scrutiny at one particularly heavy book. The pages looked relatively new and the hardcover was older. Humans would have strained under its weight but for her, it was as light as a feather. She tucked a lock of her chestnut brown hair behind her ear, dropping the book on a table. An amused smile touched her lips. The twenty-first century was an interesting, progressive one but it was one that made her feel the most normal. She had a car, a house, figured out how to legitimately pay a bill or several and a boyfriend she loved and loved her in return. It was refreshing to be with someone without being expected to be engaged to him by nature of virtue and status.

People weren't expected to want to have children and it made her able to blend. The only downside was people didn't quite appreciate touching an actual physical book and flipping through its pages. Tablets were convenient and a part of technology she had to learn to get used to but it irritated her to have to stare at a perpetually lit screen to read. Cell phones were softer on her emotions and she marveled at how thin this iPhone was. It sat in the side pocket of her skinny jeans. She pulled it out, and checked for any calls. There was one she expected more than rest.

"Nothing," she said, in quiet exasperation. She had done her part to hold things together at work, and make things smoother but it could only go so far. She could only do so much not because she could, but because her sense of right and wrong was the most important to her. She exhaled again, touching her hair and brushed it back. Glancing at the large book on the table, she supposed she better get started. "Shit."

Her eyes scanned the ancient words, followed the branches of one family tree after another. The script was in ancient Latin, one of the many languages she was fluent in. When one lived as long as she had, time stretched backwards too far for anyone to comprehend. Flipping a couple more pages, her eyebrow knitted together and her head spun. Ancient realization fused themselves together. She ran her finger along the family tree from current to people long in the past.

When she got a full picture, it was one that fit but looked wrong at the same time.

"No, no, no…"

Two faces of the present and the past merged together and she cursed again, a little louder. She hurriedly pulled out her phone to check again. Still, there was silence.

"Lilith, what have you done?" she quietly questioned, with a heaving sigh. This was bad – worse than she had thought. She was sure she would never see this name again, much less deal with what Lilith was capable of. She knew because her eyes had seen every kind of horror she had brought. Something like the heavy stone of a broken building from ancient Rome landed hard in her stomach and twisted around like a snake stubbornly refusing to die. It was fitting, she supposed, considering the dark irony.

She heard heels loud in her ears and it made her perk up. To normal ears, the carpet would have absorbed it. To human ears, the intruder would be one of the best at stealth, but she was better. Of course, she hated getting violent and loathed being uncontrollably lethal, but Marisol brought out that deadly part of her. She had resolved to let it rest, but every so often, it woke up and went quiet again. Marisol, however, poked at it until she was no longer in control and the bloodlust against other vampires and humans alike, was.

Marisol's perfume invaded her literary sanctuary and therefore violated her. Red crept into her vision. Sound became sharper, and anger became concentrated. Before Marisol could be her smug self, she rushed into her faster than she ever had and pinned to a bookshelf by her throat. Green eyes turned into a vibrant orange matching the fire growing in her body. Marisol was her gasoline.

"You seem to find amusement in testing me!" she growled, with fangs bared.

Marisol laughed even as she wheezed against the tight grip on her throat. Sharp nails dug the smooth, swan-like throat and the other woman cursed and wheezed.

"You'll…pass," Marisol coughed, still smirking. "Let…go."

"No!" she yelled. Releasing the grip on Marisol's throat, she plunged her hand into her chest instead. "You know something. It's more than you being your irksome self. I'll kill you right here if you play games with me. I'm stronger than you. I'm faster than you. I've been living longer than you and I _turned_ you."

"Maybe," Marisol groaned against the small hand burrowed in her chest and gripping her heart. She grinned and her chuckle came out like a shuddering breath, "I just like you. I like you so much that I have something important to tell you. Get your hand out of my chest, _por favor._ "

The brunette relented and removed her hand from Marisol's chest, shaking black inky blood from her hand. Marisol exhaled in relief, the hole closing up. Perfect red lips twisted into a frown completed with a look of disgust as the wide stain on the green fabric. Yes, Marisol was as grating as she was vain. Calm dissipated the rage. The anger was gone and only annoyance remained.

"Marco has something valuable because he wants that red-headed _perra_ back," she spat, rolled her eyes and stared and glanced at her nails. Marisol raised her eyes and they carried a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Let me correct that: Marco has someone valuable. As always, he just had to be insufferable and ruin my fun."

"Fun such as?"

Marisol grinned like a cat that had swallowed a canary. "I could almost taste him."

"Remember, your life is at risk. Who were you about to feed off of?"

The other vampire had a face of mock thought and then acted as if realizing.

"Ah," Marisol snapped her fingers. "Does the name William Foster Abbott mean anything to you?"

It did. That name did mean something to her. Familiarity struck her as the name unraveled and his face swam around in her head until it became alarmingly clear. The old texts weren't just words written on worn pages. The past didn't matter as much even though it held relevance still. Now, there was just the present. She saw a vibrant, funny and slightly annoying man who made every environment he walked into something of a party atmosphere. She wasn't one who laughed, but found herself doing it more often in his presence.

Billy never quite said her name as it was but didn't mind the nice sounding variation. She liked to think she was one that stayed comfortably behind the scenes. Billy never let her hide away, no matter how much she wanted to.

Those green eyes broke away from her downward glance and focused on Marisol again. She forced her face just be stone faced and unreadable. She couldn't give anything for the other vampire to read, twist around or misconstrue. Billy's face floated out of her mind's eye and the vision of Marisol advancing on him was clearer. Marisol's face turned into one of questioning and slight annoyance. _Does the name William Foster Abbott mean anything to you? Does the name William Foster_ —

"Did you hurt him?"

"So, it _does_ mean something to you—"

"Shut up!" she yelled, sharply and asked again with restrained rage. "Did. You. Hurt. Him?"

Marisol sighed, exasperated with the question, "No. I couldn't. Has being caged in here like the library mouse you are, eroded your sanity?"

"Marco should have killed you. He would have been gentler than me."

She let it happen. She let her rage erupt. She had watched Vesuvius tremble before the lava bubble over and crept toward the people. Her eyes still saw Pompeii being frozen in an overpowering heat. It was the first time she had seen an oxymoron in motion. When another one happened, she would be the center. Her external was one of ice but her internal was boiling with her own lava. Finally, Marisol became the target of her own eruption and she would take much pleasure in burning her in it. She exhaled, closing her green eyes and opened them. She could have killed her swiftly, but again, time was important and she desperately needed to buy some. She smiled, retrieving a knife between her beloved books. Marisol raised an inquisitive eyebrow and if one looked closely enough, there was fear in those usually proud, seductive eyes. Those green eyes locked with them, small hands loosely twisting the black hilt of the knife while she advanced on Marisol slowly.

"What are you doing now—"

She was cut off that death grip on her throat. "Damnit, Eve!"

The other woman held the knife, pushing the sharp tip of knife precariously against Marisol's mid-section. She forced Marisol to look her in the eyes and spoke softly in her native tongue as her eyes took on their fiery hue. It rendered Marisol powerless and the blade went a little deeper into her mid-section. Marisol groaned, mouth twisting into her annoyed frown but there was pain. Another black stain bloomed saturated the dark green hue of the dress.

"The name Billy Abbott means nothing to you. You won't remember it. You won't recall it. You will stand here and hurt yourself as you tried to do him," she quietly ordered, putting the black hilt in tanned manicured hands. "Stand here and stab yourself. When you get tired, you will alternate hands. I'll be back to kill you."

Marisol glared at her and proceeded to start stabbing. Over and over, she stabbed and her face contorted with pain.

"Glad you've caught my drift. Be happy that I didn't kill you outright. Don't bleed too much on my library carpet," she joked stepping back with a smirk and eyes the colour of mint twinkling. "I'm glad it takes you being in discomfort to finally get my name right.

Eve grinned in satisfaction at Marisol's suffering and walked away.

—

Travis wasn't going to question why Crimson Lights was open this late at night when he knows. He walked into to find Sharon cleaning pieces of cutlery. He knew she was anxious and needed something to do. Sharon was usually her normal self with some big sister behaviour. To be fair, Travis would never tell her he stole her diary as a kid and buried in Mr. Peterson's yard for letting his dog, Winston, out. The dog never came back. He remembered her sitting on him, screaming at him to give it back and him yelling at her to go find Winston first. Their dad pulled her off of him while their mom cuffed him on the ear. Of course, they had been angry about stupid things insignificant as adults, but still, it didn't stop Travis from having friction with Sharon. Love and protectiveness outweighed that.

Sharon and Travis both went through being stronger than most people, stronger than most people and even better reflexes. He started puberty normally and then at sixteen, he accelerated. Sharon, on the other hand, became angrier than usual. He remembers hitting puberty was slower for her but her temper was stronger than his. Travis knew he was different when three days before a full moon in his senior year of high school, he had been angered by something he couldn't remember. All he did recall was blinding rage gripping him and beating the other kid up so badly, he had to be put in a medically induced coma. He had essentially blacked out during the whole thing.

When full moons were approaching, they kept the other balanced and holding onto something close to sanity. Usually, he could deal with it and it had nothing to do with a beautiful fiancée with literal magic. It was because he was mellow and he could find things to settle down. Tonight, he couldn't. He wanted normalcy with Victoria and the kids. He had grown to love them, although it hadn't been very hard. He wanted to help Victoria plan their wedding. By plan, he meant to get the suit and show up.

To be blunt, Billy was an idiot. He could tolerate a lot of things, but Travis admitted it was hard to tolerate everything Billy Abbott. Victoria cared for him in a different way that left room for him in her heart. Travis wasn't a jealous guy and was fine with their friendship, but he never had an immediate trigger until Billy came into his life via Victoria and frayed his nerves. Tonight, he finally realized why Billy and Phyllis got together. They were a tag team of irritation and annoyance.

As aggravating as she was, Travis had to concede Phyllis was right. He cursed under his breath as he stormed into Crimson Lights and sat on a stool.

Sharon didn't look up from cleaning a fork. Well, nearly bending it.

"Coffee. Now."

"Damnit!" Sharon yelled, throwing the fork over his head so hard, it lodged itself in the brick wall. She exhaled, and finally turned her attention on him. "Hi. What's wrong with you?"

She turned around, and poured dark fleshly-made coffee in a white coffee mug. Sharon admitted she had made the coffee just to get rid of her extra energy. Travis accepted the coffee from her and had taken his first careful sip of it when Sharon brought a shaking hand to her head, rubbing it.

"You first," Travis shot back. "You were fine earlier. Now, you're off."

"Well, if you went three full moons without shifting you'd be half crazy, too! If you haven't noticed, I'm going to be on lithium until I die!" Sharon snapped at him, eyes changing colour. Travis remained unbothered and watched her sigh and exhale, before her face flushed and tears pooled in her green eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Travis reassured her. He was sympathetic to his sister's bipolar disorder. It was a disease, inherited by their father. He mused it was the cause of her being closer to their dad as he was to their mother. They were divorced now and were weird werewolf exes who were best friends. "Maybe this is something you have to talk with Dad about. It would help and you've always understood each other because you have the same disorder. Bur yeah, you can't do that tomorrow. For my sanity, mine and your forks."

"Yeah," Sharon replied, with a smile and sniffled. "I'll call him tonight. He's always been a night owl. Faith and Cassie have him occupied with non-magical camping. Mom called today."

"She did?" Travis' inquired, blowing on the top of his coffee. "What has she done now?"

"Well, she's got Noah and Mariah neck deep in werewolf related negotiations. She's grooming them to lead the pack when she retires eventually."

Travis nearly laughed and Sharon actually did. For all her quirks, Julia Crawford didn't know what the word retirement meant, much less knowing do it. His mother was a woman who moved around. It was very rare to see his mother be still, and solitary. Travis knew even when Julia marinated in the quiet, he could almost see the wheels in her head turning until they had become rusty. She had come over from England and like the way he had met Victoria, his parents had met in a bar. They both knew the other person through the magic of natural pheromones. He didn't want to tell the rest of the story because from his conception, he had lived through every well written chapter and every torn page. Currently, they were divorced separated by different countries. Dad was in Madison, while Mom spent most of her time in England. Like right now. While his dad was down-to-earth and easy going – aside from the few times he would swing from manic to depressive – his mother was strategic, made sure everyone knew she was coming, the toughest woman he ever knew and his hero.

"You know retirement isn't in her vocabulary," Travis replied, and slowly smiled. He heard Mom's voice, British accent all, in his head. "Remember what she used to say to us?"

"Oh, God, yes…" Sharon answered, with a groan and a chuckle. She went into Mom's accent. "If you haven't drawn blood, you're failing, but I love you regardless. Oh before I forget to told you, Mom and Dad are exes with benefits," Sharon disclosed, with a slight shudder. Travis nearly choked on his coffee and look up at her, glaring slightly. He was more disgusted than anything. That was up there with Phyllis throwing a brick into his back window to get his attention. It was something Travis couldn't unsee and wished he could erase.

"They're—oh, God. What the hell, Sharon? Are you seriously going to traumatize me because of that stupid diary?"

"You buried it!"

"Go find Winston, then!" Travis yelled back, pointing to the door and then outside.

Sharon narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. "Let the dog go!"

He paused, and closed his eyes. There was a sharp pain in his temple and he rubbed it, wishing it away. He had one headache under his roof with Victoria and he didn't have the patience to deal with this one. Travis exhaled and Sharon sighed. He had to find some kind of center. With Phyllis – for a lack of a better term – cockblocking him and Billy being kidnapped, Travis had to push the urge to tear something to pieces back.

Sharon met his gaze and they said at the same time, knowingly, "Full moon problems."

"Speaking of problems," Travis ventured, tapping on his coffee cup, "I need you to help me."

She looked at him confused. "Help you?"

"Long story short. Billy's missing. We need to track him so," Travis explained, with a grin, "let's do a little breaking and entering for old time sake. I'll explain on the way."

—

Billy wished Marco would kick him in the rib again, just so the pain would really knock him out. It made no difference how. He just wanted to not hear the white noise that was Marco's voice partly because it was Jack's. With every breath Marco took to speak, a pain that wasn't physical hit him long after the ache in his ribs subsided. It was all white noise. He didn't hear Jack at the head of the table on their Abbott family dinners. He didn't see Traci's smiling face and hear Ashley's laugh. Billy didn't look into Jack's eyes and see their father behind them. He just had to force his eyes to focus on a spot behind Marco's shoulder and it would be over. He just had to force the fading picture of Katie and Johnny to stay clear. More than anything, Billy willed himself to grasp the thin threads that kept him linked to Phyllis. He wanted to bury his nose in Phyllis' red hair as he held her close in silence that said spoke for them.

While Marco spoke, Billy smiled to himself. Her natural scent wafted around him. The softness of her skin vibrated under his song after she had started touching him otherwise. He could feel her kisses on his mouth, and the gentle scrapping of her fangs on his neck. He only let everything swim in and out slightly, and lost his focus, when Marco said something that may or may not have intrigued him. Billy may have been pissed off by it and may have resolved to swing again if it triggered him. But he wasn't. For the first time, since he had been here, Billy's hearing sharpened when Marco mentioned something about Abbott ancestry.

"Phyllis is the most beautiful thing I ever made. She was on the brink of having that light dim out and there she was ready to be re-made. I couldn't let influenza ravage this incredibly ravishing woman, could I?" Marco chuckled, wrapped in a memory Billy wasn't alive for, but found sick anyway. His fingers grew electrically charged with the need to choke Marco out or reach for whatever would put an end him. She told him that to turn someone was a big step to take, and it was something that two people had to understand and agree to. Sometimes, it hurt. Sometimes, it was slow and sometimes, it happened so quickly, it was impossible to remember. Call it Billy's gut or his journalistic tendencies, but he suspected it wasn't a good time for her but he never asked. He saw her scars as clearly as she saw his and that was enough for him to know.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong. If you did, you're a bastard for not letting me in on it," she chided, and swatted his arm. He strolled with her through Chancellor Park on a night that had a sky full of stars.

"For once," Billy answered, bringing their intertwined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, "I'm innocent. It's…strange."

He watched her roll her eyes while trying to hide her amusement.

"Strange is a good thing."

Billy walked with her until they reach an empty park bench. He knew she had quick reflexes and reaction time better than him. Knowing Phyllis was stronger than he was turned him on. When she did bite him, Billy didn't mind it. In fact, he welcomed it. He knew there was blindingly pain but even as he grew dizzy from the blood loss, he saw her. He was delirious on a high that made him crave more. It made him selfish because he wanted to see Phyllis. Just Phyllis. The upside was he would have a hell of a hickey in the morning. She could have killed him and still, Billy would want her face imprinted in his brain. When he gently pulled her down so Phyllis sat next to him, Billy pulled her into his lap and let his fingers dance on her bare thigh.

"Yeah," he kissed her and pulled away, stroking the apple of her cheek. Phyllis' skin had a glow about it and her hair seemed to be a halo of the fire he loved. "It's always been a good thing with us, but I was apologizing because I hate that you've been hurt."

Phyllis played with his hair gently and chuckled. "I'm a big girl. I'm okay."

"It's not okay. Not with me. But on the off-chance you can't be tough, I've got you. I'll never hurt you," he vowed, earnestly. In her eyes, Billy saw her pain but he saw that she trusted him. He just wanted to be the safest place for her to land even though Phyllis could kick and claw her away out. Even though she could land on her feet. Still, Billy wanted to catch her. So, he would.

She smiled softly at him. It was a smile that would appeared on her face when she came to him just at the end of sunset. Billy saw the same smile when Phyllis kissed him goodbye with promises of coming home on her lips before she climbed out of his window before sunrise.

She kissed him and said honestly, "I love you."

"I'm glad to hear that because I love you, too."

She grinned, slipping off hopping off his lap and pulled him off the bench. "Let's go home."

Billy stood, kissing her cheek, slinging an arm around her shoulders continuing to walk through the park. When Phyllis declared proudly that she would cook for him, he laughed. First of all, his fridge was sadly empty and whatever was in there, might have grown fuzz. Second of all, he wasn't hungry. At least, not for food.

"Babe, you burn water."

Phyllis glared at him, "After all the trouble I went through to go grocery shopping?"

Billy tossed a questioning side glance at her with raised eyebrows, "You mean the kind of grocery shopping where you broke into the store, and killed the night security?"

She shrugged, dismissively, "Shut up. It's the thought that counts."

Back in his white present, Billy felt the bile creep up his throat and the residual taste of his blood in his mouth. He took in a sharp inhale and winced. He set his jaw and focused on Marco's face instead. The simmering anger forced Billy to disassociate his brother from it even though his mannerisms were congruent with Jack's. The mannerisms were same. Jack's actions were jovial and light with the air of the smart ass he always was. Billy saw every action Marco did as lethal and aggravating.

"You've kidnapped me, possibly snapped my ribs and now, I get an Abbott Family Tree lesson," Billy surmised, with a smile when he was anything but in a good mood. "What did I do to have all of this special attention? You gonna break my arms if I think our friendship bracelets are too fucking ugly?"

"No hard feelings if I had that in mind."

"Like I told Meredith, I don't care, man."

Marco chuckled, "I'm soft on Abbotts. Sue me. I once came in contact with one of your ancestors, you know? Patrick Abbott, I believe around Henry II's reign. Didn't quite to meet his father. He died before I could help him do so. He took something of mine and I hate when my things are stolen from me. An ancient amulet, Phyllis—"

Billy cut off him off and winced when he inhaled.

"Were you alive when Lincoln said owning people isn't trendy anymore? You're dense if you think Phyllis can be owned," he laughed, shaking his head. Billy rested his head against the wall, shifting so he couldn't feel the pain so much. The idea of anyone owning this woman of scorching flames capable of warm embers was unfathomable. He narrowed his eyes in anger as the realization hit him. "You son of a bitch. You turned her and didn't give her a choice!"

Marco grew quiet, stood and Billy almost regretted wishing Marco would kick in the rib and knock him out to keep his sanity because it came true. He was sure all of his ribs were dust and Billy was just breathing to check if he was alive. His heart was still beating even though it wasn't steady. His mouth still functioned because he cried out and swore loudly.

"Now you don't get a choice to speak anymore," Marco spoke in that cold tone again. "It's not amusing to me anymore."

He sat back down on the cot and Billy spat up more blood. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt. He sat down and his face grew calm again. "Patrick was a bit of hot-head but I have to applaud him for his cunning and resourcefulness. However, his sticky stingers have cost me centuries of wasted time and energy. Patrick got married, pretty little wife and had seven sons."

Even in pain, Billy found himself smiling at his ancestor's knack for getting busy. He sounded like the kind of guy he would totally have a beer with. Patrick could show him all of the cool rough Irish pubs and in turn, he could teach his how many times great-grandfather the magic of twenty first century advances in porn. Billy had to let that hobby go or Phyllis threatened to hurt him. A lot. Usually, he liked when she did but still, he kinda wanted to live. Maybe if the pain made Billy hallucinate clearly enough, he could high five Patrick and ask him what the fuck Marco was rambling about.

"My ancestor liked getting," Billy started, and wheezed while breathing again. He coughed, and squeezed his eyes shut, "…ass like everyone else. Well, aside from you. The moral of the story is…what exactly?"

"Fast-forward to the Irish Potato Famine of 1845—"

Something Billy clicked in his head. It was as if tectonic plates that had remained untouched shifted around and the pieces settled against each other comfortably. Suddenly, John's soft timbre became jumbled as if it was unfamiliar to him but green grass for miles and ruined castles of brick and stone did. Billy couldn't understand it and for a reason he couldn't pinpoint, he whispered, "Gorta Mor…"

It had to be because John liked to tell him and his siblings about where he came from. John told Billy more because he was the youngest. It bored him but yet, he listened because he loved his father enough to listen. Billy remembered hearing a soft male Irish brogue in the dark as he slept when he was a kid, but nobody was there. It was the pain. He had to be in pain. As Billy willed himself to hold onto near invisible strings of his consciousness, he saw Marco grin and crouch to his level.

"Ah, so you _are_ remembering. The Abbotts _infested_ this great continent and made me hop a damn ocean for that amulet," Marco spoke quietly, blue eyes dark and stormy. He forced Billy to look at him. He couldn't breathe as well and the wheezing became a soundtrack with his pain in his sides as a beat all on its own. "Specifically, the Abbott male ones. All the way down to your great-grandfather, Samuel. Your grandfather, Robert…"

Billy didn't know whether he spoke, or his mouth went on autopilot but the roots of the Abbott family tree planted itself in the white ground. It sprouted a strong trunk, branches and the heavy leaves. It grew healthy green leaves and then they slowly started to wither and fall.

 _Dad. Jack. Me. Johnny—_

"You…touch my son, and you…die. Victoria is a damn protective mother. She will kill you," Billy threatened, winced, and cried out again. He cursed and against his will, it came out broken and strangled. "You hurt Phyllis again, _I'll_ find a way to end you. I promise."

Marco shook his head again in mock disdain, "You continue to insult me. Speaking of Victoria, she owes me. I think it's time I collect, don't you?"

Billy felt himself float away in a rough current on dark waters. He wanted to swim against it but he couldn't and the shore moved further and further away from him. Billy could hear Johnny's little voice softly calling him, while Katie screamed for him to continue swimming. His heart raced and he splashed around looking for his children. Everything inside of him wanted to yell back for them, tell them that Daddy was coming for this. He could feel their little hands trying to hold on to him but they slipped away from his weak grasp.

He focused his vision enough to make Marco's face clear. It wasn't Jack's face. It was never Jack's face. Billy used the last bit of strength he had to do what he wanted to do, and what Phyllis didn't get to do for decades.

"Fuck…you."

Before Billy let go and sailed into the dark, he simply spat in Marco's face.

The last thing Billy felt was his head exploding. It shattered what he knew to be the present and pushed him into a past that was strange. But it wasn't. Billy was oddly calm being pushed back through. He was watching. Billy was staying back, standing in the wet rain hitting bright green grass. The rain darkened the fallen stone and broken brick even as green moss grew between the blocks. Billy remained silent as his eyes caught the form of a young man in his mid-thirties as he calmly walked toward a river. He looked around, dark hair sticking to his face. Hazel eyes darted around for anyone that made have been watching. His shirt was darkened by the rain, hissing as it hit the clear water. Billy saw the man bend and dig at the dirt with dirty fingernails until something glittered. The man's eyes darted around, his features set in his face and determination in his eyes. Billy squinted and focused his vision as the rain hit his skin in big fat droplets.

There was a flash of flat, metallic silver in the man's hand, and Billy looked further. He saw a quick glimmer of a purple stone accented with a slightly smaller one. Billy watched a head bent in what looked to be prayer. The strange metal and stones were then kissed softly by this person Billy felt he knew. He stood, those eyes darting around. He put the jewelry in his shirt and then Billy watched him running fast because of muscular powerful legs.

Billy watched this man, who bore a slight resemblance to him, Dad and from some angles, Jack. He raised his dark eyes to the old castle and then looked in the direction this man was running in. He pondered the resemblance, breaking him apart and watched the pieces settle inside of him, Jack and smaller ones in their father.

Holy shit.

"Patrick," Billy whispered in shock. "It's…him."

The blood sucking sociopath with the shitty name wasn't messing with him there.

Billy watched as Patrick Abbott bolted across the field to anywhere. His head pounded and heart hammered so loudly, it shifted the broken pieces of his ribs. The pain made him nearly double over in the mud, holding his side and trying to steadily breathe through it. He had to go and force his feet to move and his legs to propel him. So, he did.

"Hey!" he shouted at Patrick's back loudly with all the breath he had left.

Patrick stopped, and stared at him. Billy saw him and when Patrick continue to stare, his hazel eyes widened in recognition and he began running as he was again.

Billy swore from pain and frustration before he started to run forward, too.

He ran through his pain until Patrick got close enough to him for Billy to tackle. The pain just about knocked the wind out of him. Just like news obtained by Restless Style, he had to get answers. Billy had to know. Before he could string a decent question together, Patrick grunted and flipped him over. He found himself, feeling a cool blade at his throat and staring up at angry eyes and a stoic face. He cursed when he could and struggled against his ancestor's grasp as Patrick's wet hair dripped rain drops on him.

"We're…blood," Billy wheezed, looking him in the face to be sure there was really something of a family resemblance. It appears Patrick was doing the same. "I'm an…Abbott, too."

Patrick never let go of him, but his face turned curious and he blinked. He sighed as he looked at Billy, got off of him and extended his hand.

"Get up," Patrick ordered, quietly but gruffly in his thick Irish brogue, "or I'll regret not slittin' yer throat."

Billy winced, but took it. He clasped hands with Patrick's rough ones and stood up. He opened his mouth to speak, say thank you, or ask what lucky clover had crawled up his ass and died, but Patrick silenced him. The glare reminded him of Ashley when she became annoyed. Patrick put a finger to his lips and nodded in the direction of a ridge that led into some kind of woods. The rain was reduced to a drizzle. Billy rolled his eyes, sighed and followed.

—

Reed had to get away. Partly because his house was crowded and because he wanted to be with his girlfriend, Mattie. They were going to rival schools and one day at the coffeehouse, she literally bumped into him. He remembered how funny she was, blushing she apologized. He looked at her and instantly felt as if they had known each other before. It was only after they had together unraveled their family trees, did they realize the Newmans and the Barbers were almost fated to be intertwined and had been for centuries.

He had his own shit going on and after spending the day with Dad, he was wiped. Mattie laughed against his mouth as he kissed her on the couch of his family's cabin. He never quite showed his emotions because it made him feel weak, but with her, he could because Mattie was beautiful, tough as hell but she understood him in ways most people didn't. On top of it, she was a badass witch all by herself. Reed knew what he meant to do. Kill monsters. Fight. Deal with everything that came with being a teenager. Navigate his crazy, freakish family. His family would get bigger in a few months. He liked Travis well enough. He was a cool dude, and Reed wasn't that bothered by him but if he hurt his mom, Reed wouldn't hesitate to shoot him with pure silver. Hurt his little brother and sister and Travis was going to die. That was about it.

Reed's life was this: kill undead ass and then do it again. He didn't need sleep either. Three hours of it equals eight hours to his body. The cabin was quiet aside from he and Mattie. She tasted like the ice tea she had been drinking on the drive up here and he always loved her dark curls between his fingers. Her fingers felt good in his dark hair. Of course, Reed wanted all of Mattie in that way. But only when she was ready. He wouldn't push her. Right now, he just liked being with her.

"Okay, we…have to…stop," Mattie said, between kisses, as she held his face between her hands. It was his turn to smile against the soft skin of her neck. She chuckled, breathless. "Reed, you're…distracting me."

He pulled away and stared into her eyes, wrapping a loose long curl around her finger. He smiled softly at her.

"Fine," Reed groaned, with mock disappointment. "I guess, we have to stop even though I like kissing you."

"It's very mutual. However," she started, and grabbed her tablet of the coffee table in front of them and settled into Reed as he looked over her shoulder. He let his arm hang over her shoulder and Mattie turned around to kiss her before going to focus on her tablet, "I spent the day with my Grandma Dru today."

Reed watched Mattie tap her fingers rapidly on the lit screen. He stared at it. He knew enough from his mom's old books to know it was the page of a spell book.

"Okay."

"Every coven has an ancestral stronghold," Mattie explained, eyes still on the tablet. "The Barbers have it in Louisiana. Mine, Charlie's, my mom…all of us. Our families have always been linked. Yours have always been, according to my calculations with longitude and latitude, in Rome."

"Rome, as in Italy?" Reed questioned, more to himself than her. He paused, finding a conversation with his mother and how much she loved Italy. _I don't know, Reed. I was drawn to that place even I stayed mostly in Florence. There was this beautiful monastery I went to there in Rome._ He disclosed, "My mom went there. It was before I was born. She stayed there for two years."

"Oh," Mattie replied, and paused, before talking as if in the middle of a thought. He did always love the way the wheels turned in her head. Even now. "According to my grandmother, when your ancestors slowly moved away from Italy and mine moved away from Louisiana, they found each other in Genoa City. Therefore, the potency of the stronghold shifts with the geography. Why'd you come here?"

Reed frowned with confusion. It was an easy question with an even easier answer.

"Because I want to be here with you."

Mattie turned around to look at him, and touched his face. "I like coming with you, but I think, even when you come by yourself, you sensed it. You know why? This is your family's center. This is where they are drawn to but someone's after your family, specifically."

"Who?"

"I'd have to work with my grandmother, my mom to assist your mother and grandmother to figure that out. Three generations of magic is better than one."

He watched Mattie slide the tablet's cover over its screen and shifted around so she looked him in the eyes. Even behind her glasses, her brown eyes serious and he wished she would stop looking at him like that.

"Mattie," Reed asked, sternly. "Who the hell is after my family? I heard my mom, Phyllis and Travis talking about it. Billy's missing and he's my family, too."

"Oh, right," Mattie recalled, snapping her fingers and eyes lighting up with recognition. "You mean, his vampire girlfriend and the werewolf your mom about to marry."

"Yes. I just want to know. Especially if my little brother and sister are at risk. They're little kids. Yeah, they got their magic from her, but I'm their big brother. I have to protect them and if my mom is also at risk, I can't chill and be cool about this."

Reed let Mattie kiss him and assured him, touching his arm. "If it's one thing I'm sure of, I'll absolutely have your back."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You're fucking amazing, Mattie."

"I know that, Reed. I feel the same. Now, I think I saw some salt, witch hazel and concentrated African violet in the pantry. I can get started on building a barrier from the inside. I don't have a clear—" Mattie started to explain and stopped when the sound of broken glass interrupted and he shielded her from the impact. Reed felt a sharp pain in his arm from the shattered glass.

He glanced down and saw a jagged piece of window glass in his arm. He hissed in pain and he swore when the dark green colour of his shirt had a splotch of his blood growing bigger on it.

He braced himself, slowly pulling out the glass. Reed experienced worse than this but he needed to make sure Mattie was okay. He felt the sting of the glass in his arm so he slowly pulled it out. He could feel the blood running down his arm and heard Kendall's flirtatious tone calling but all he could focus on was his girlfriend. Mattie slowly get up and glared at the window and the direction of Kendall's voice. She spied his arm and her eyes widened in alarm and she moved to take off her shirt.

"S'okay. I'm fine. Are you okay?"

Reed watched her holding her shirt between her teeth, tearing it to strips. Mattie wore a black top with spaghetti straps on top of her black bra straps. When Reed asked her again, she merely worked to tie the pieces of her shirt around his bloody arm and pulled tightly.

He winced but tried to keep himself from losing focus on what he has to instinctively had to do. Mattie got up, wiping her hands on her jeans. Reed watched her walk over to the kitchen open the bottom cabinet. Mattie re-appeared, holding his crossbow and arrows he had never seen before. She walked over to him in even purposeful strides and held them out to him. Reed then took the ten Black Oak stakes from her.

Reed grabbed them, and stared down at the arrows.

"I've been studying magic weaponry. I made these. Black Oak wood with hemlock poisoned tips. They're guaranteed to kill every shot you take. If you run out, you can use these, they should be enough," his girlfriend dictated, ready than he was. "You get out and handle the horde of vampires outside. I'll go on the second floor deck with those ingredients. It's not a full moon but I don't need one to build the barrier and assist you from the—"

Reed cut her off with a lingering kiss. He wasn't saying goodbye but it was more of one that said _see you later_ and _please take care of yourself_ at the same time. He pulled away and Mattie smiled softly at him, biting her bottom lip. Reed watched her blush again.

"Okay. Go," Mattie told him, tensing at Kendall's voice calling him.

"You know Reed," Kendall started, flirtatiously with a giggle. "I thought we were friends. It hurts that we're not hanging out anymore. You were supposed to love me. You're lying to yourself if you think I'm out of your system, babe."

Reed started to go outside after expertly checking the crossbow and twirling a wooden stoke once, effortlessly. He let his sight stretched out the windows. There, his ex-girlfriend was. He had ended the relationship because he simply wasn't into her. Kendall was needy, wanted to always be with him, and never quite never let him breathe. She wanted to always have sex and while he did fuck her, Reed never thought it was anything serious or deep.

Before he went through the door, Mattie called him and he turned around.

"Reed, kill everybody but Kendall. I want to kill her herself," she said, brown eyes flashing with anger even when she looked him in encouragingly. "I'll be satisfied watching her die and knowing that I've successfully killed my first vampire."

He cursed under his breath, and walked out to meet Kendall outside.

There she was, wearing her typical jean short shots and a black and red plaid top tied to reveal her flat stomach. Reed threw his crossbow down on the grass by the left of his foot, deciding to use Mattie's stakes first. He stared out at the front yard area and mentally mapped out quickly how he would kill them all because he knew that, of course, Kendall wouldn't show up alone. She was all about the dramatics and the attention all on her. Reed knew Kendall James loved having people worship her.

Reed held five in each hand as more vampires came out of the shrubbery behind her. The brunette's sexy smile turned into a grin. He calmly walked up, holding five stakes in each hand. He looked at Kendall's manufactured army because yeah, she sure as hell turned all of them. Gavin Schneider, a football player. All four members of Kendall's posse. They all hung out for a stupid reason. It was only because they all had names beginning the letter, K. Kylie. Kara. Kirsten. Karen. Sarah Lee, the girl with the highest GPA in their grades. She was a shy, sweet girl. He said hi to her in the halls but they were never friends. Frank Gallagher, a clean cut lame piece of shit who happened to be the Student Body Vice-President. Richie Fuller, a guy who blended into their grade and was so quiet Reed thought the guy was mute. Apparently not.

He smirked, and threw the ten stakes at various places. Reed's eyes sharply traced the path from stake to each vampire. He would start with the weakest and work his way up to the strongest. Finally, Reed resolved he would toy with Kendall until Mattie could kill her.

"What's up, Kendall?"

"Nothing much," she answered with a giggle. A cold hand ran itself down his neck to his chest. Her dark eyes darted over to the tied, bleeding arm. Mattie's light blue shirt became darkened with his blood and Kendall's eyes twinkled. "It's great to see you and to know that you know what I like."

"What exactly do you think it is I like?" he questioned, with a laugh, "because I'm pretty sure my girlfriend would know that better than you."

Kendall's face changed from flirtatious and playful to angry. Reed wanted that.

Her eyes slowly turned from their dark brown to red and she rushed at him. Reed let her pin himself down and he smirked at her looking up at her. Kendall smiled at him, revealing her fangs. He felt her eyes on his throat and watched as she ran a finger down his arm. Kendall's fingertip became stained with his blood and she put it in her mouth, closing her eyes.

"Mmmm," Kendall sighed, finger in her mouth. "God, you still taste so fucking good. I'll kill you but it's okay because like them, we get to hang out forever. Sorry your witch of a mother loses you tonight."

Reed smiles knowingly, looking up to see Mattie on the second-floor deck at work.

He got up and now, he pinned her down with his full strength. Kendall swore and yelled out for the rest of her low rent army of leeches. As they moved toward him, Reed yelled loudly, "Back the fuck up and wait your turn! I'll kill you when your turn comes, you shitty ass corpses!"

A slowly growing wind blew through and made them recoil slightly. Reed turned his attention to Kendall, who struggled underneath him as he held her down. He wasn't raised to hit girls. He never would. Killing vampires, however, would be a hell of a time.

"You're down to kill me? It's funny, because Mattie said the same about you."

Reed felt Kendall kick him in the side, but he rolled over through the pain and sprang to his feet. He stood face-to-face outnumbered but adrenaline surged through him. Powered by that adrenaline and Mattie's magic, he ran toward the first stake and did what he always did by one part fun, one part instinct driven by his bloodline and in this case, equal parts amusement.

He ran forward, getting the first stake and threw it, hitting Sarah square in the heart. She fell and screamed, her skin turning into an ugly grey before she exploded in dust. Reed followed the path in his head from stake to stake, sometimes dodging kicks and punches and delivered some of himself.

It was a blur of Black Oak stakes, hand-to-hand combat and the steady spring of flaming arrows now – courtesy of Mattie – shooting out as the string of the bow strained and vibrated against tension. Reed threw the crossbow on the ground, breath heavily as he surveyed the dust and corpses in the grass. He winced as he popped his dislocated shoulder in and wiped the blood from a cut on his cheek. The blood on his arm from the glass cutting him on the arm was caked and dry now.

With the Newman cabin as a backdrop, Reed locks eyes with Kendall and smiled knowingly over her shoulder to Mattie.

She mouthed, "We go on three."

He gave a small nod, understanding. They were going to handle Kendall together after all.

He watched Mattie walk up to Kendall, absolutely fearless.

Reed couldn't love Mattie for what she was about to do, but still, something sharp stabbed him in the gut. He couldn't shake this intense feeling that his mom was more than at risk. He couldn't get rid of his internal alarm. His mother was at risk. Phyllis was with her, probably trying to figure out where Billy was.

Something he didn't want to think, intertwined itself in Reed's thought process.

What if Mom was the risk?

Reed shook his head, grasping for his laser focus and tunnel vision concentration.

He inhaled and started counting as Kendall narrowed her eyes, and rushed for him.

"One, two," he counted, grasping a discarded stake, whirled around and threw the Black Oak square in the heart. He yelled at Mattie as a slowly growing wall of flames surrounded a screaming Kendall, "three, Mattie!"

He heard Mattie speaking loudly, repeating a spell he didn't understand. The wall of fire shrunk and twirled around inti a tornado around her. The heat nearly burned his skin and he jumped back, still hearing Kendall's bloodcurdling screams. Then the flames along with the screaming died down until Kendall's body became dust, bone and ash. Reed stared across the grass and ran for Mattie until he was able to hug her. His arm still hurt but Reed didn't worry about that all too much. He could feel Mattie smile against his shoulder and was glad to take in the scent of her strawberry-scented perfume and her mango-smelling shampoo.

"Are you okay?" she asked, softly.

Reed pulls away from her, part in confusion and in awe. "What?" he blinked, jaw almost dropping. "Wait… you pretty much launching a tornado of fire at my crazy ex-girlfriend and you're asking if I'm okay?"

Mattie beamed, waving a hand dismissively. "I read my family's grimoire and studied it in three hours. Charlie doesn't care and like to use magic to impress girls. But whatever."

Oh, right. Asshat Ashby.

Reed watched Mattie's face take on one of pride and satisfaction.

"My grandmother will be so happy I've mastered this one."

"This was the coolest thing I've ever seen," he admitted to her. She took his hand and shrugged, as they walked in the direction of the cottage.

"Thanks. I'll fix up your arm. Ooh! I made this really effective poultice my Aunt Liv showed me how to make. It'll lower the risk of any infection and speeds up healing."

Risk. That world stopped Reed dead in his tracks as the internal alarms in his head became deafening and too loud to ignore. There was a rattling in his chest and making his gut clench again. This time, it almost hurt and his nerves stretched like rubber bands before they twisted themselves. Mattie stopped walking, and stared at him puzzled.

 _Your mother is the risk. You mother is the risk. Your mother is the—_

"Mattie, what if—" he started and cut himself off. He couldn't ask it. Not much scared him but this possibility scared the shit out of him. Mattie's confused look remained her on face and she searched his for some hint, or answer. "What if my mom is the risk?"

"What? What makes you think that? Victoria can't possibly—"

Reed cut her off, gently with a shake of his head, "I'm her kid. I'm her first born. You know that this stuff is different for people like you and me. You know, the ones that were born first. My mom is Grandpa and Grandma's first kid. And I can't… I can't shake the feeling that something off with her. Or, will be."

Mattie sighed, glancing down before she raised her eyes to his. "Okay. I'll fix up your arm and the broken glass," she declared, very sure, "and then we'll go home."

"Cool," Reed only said and hugged her again.

Still that alarm rang. It rang in his head and wouldn't stop even with Mattie assuring him.

 _Your mother is the risk, Reed. She will always be the risk._

—

A woman hummed an old song of long ago, back when time wasn't important or counted. She was in the dark or rather the dark rested inside of her. She floated around in between ribbons of black and rocks of dark onyx. Shadows danced around her like she commanded them to do. In her hands was the ability to destroy and under her feet was the world. Her dark hair was wild and untamed. Nothing would change it otherwise and she'd kill anyone who dared to attempt it. Her azure eyes sparkled, the colour of a body of water frozen by the coldest wind but made entrenching by sunshine hitting its surface. It was fitting, she supposed. Freezing, yet deceptively warm.

She continued humming as her slender fingers dragged them over the inky black surfaces. The blackness let her porcelain skin became absorbent and the dark was made light in her veins. Something glinted at her and she beamed now, realizing it was a mirror. Fingers glided over the smooth surface. Her eyes stared into it, but she expected nothing to materialize in front of her. Instead, she saw a blank canvas for her to paint on.

She ran a singer finger up and down the full length mirror, feeling its warmth and its gentle currents of what was to come for her _. For them_.

"Erimus iterum conveniant," she spoke fondly to no one and everyone all at once. "We shall meet again, sweet Victoria."

The mirror's uniform surface slowly cracked, revealing jagged lines.

A sinister grin widened on her beautiful face and indeed, all would be well soon enough.


	4. 3: The Garden

**The Ghost of You  
Summary: **"If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica. [AU]  
 **Notes:** this is the longest chapter yet. There was a lot of cover so I did that. Forgive any typos. I'm tired and will do a better edit when my brain is not mush. Enjoy! And thanks for the feedback. Excuse any typos.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Garden**

Humans were stupid creatures, but they were smart that in that they aligned their existences with her seven deadly sins. Lust. Pride. Anger. Greed. Sloth. Gluttony. Envy. Mortals were short-tempered and caused chaos that made her thrive. They were capable of causing their own downfall from heights they built. She could only revel and cackle as they fell and broke into many infinite pieces. They were vulnerable as they gorged on everything luxurious to excess and killed each other when green with dark thoughts of what they couldn't have but craved. She smirked as she wanted these beings below her indulge in the carnal, and sins of the flesh. That was her favourite because it was the slowest path to being killed by what made them vital and alive.

This was not her environment and yet it left her curious. It left her intrigued but she allowed a kind of nostalgia. She had been here before but she could help but feel like Nick Newman was avoiding her. Her heeled boots took slow, measured steps around his office desk. It was indeed his office. The framed pictures brought a smile to her lips. She stared at them, each smiling face carrying the memory of a life that had intersected hers throughout time. Victoria's face stared at her through the glass of the silver frame. Slate blue eyes concentrated on that porcelain face, and flawless skin. So much potential. So much, untapped power. What a beautiful, fatal weapon Victoria was and could be again.

A pensive look crossed her face and then an idea sparked in her mind. Instinct was strong, of course, but blood was stronger. Then her features were calm and she closed her eyes. Then when she opened them, she let the frame drop from her fingers. Sliding into the desk chair, she leaned back and crossed her legs at the ankles against the desk.

She laughed, "Come find me, Nicholas."

—

It was a full house at the Underground. He wasn't surprised because around this time, mortals and supernatural creatures were drawn to the place. Nick was lying when he said his intentions for coming to check on things was his only motive. He didn't have just one motive or reason to leave the house. There was a full moon about to rise tomorrow and Sharon's mood were more intense. She was a little more anxious. Sharon grew to be short-tempered more intensely because her bipolar disorder. The only upside was that the sex was better. When another woman named Rosie flirted with him, he thought it was relatively harmless. It stopped being harmless when she turned up missing a couple days later. When Rosie did turn up, she was a mess of dirt, dried blood and deep bites and claw marks. Sharon returned home and numbly walked into his arms, a bloody trembling mess. Nick didn't need to ask because of two reasons: he knew his wife as a person and he heard her thoughts. Nick heard them unraveling, unspooling and erratic. They bounced one mental island of anger, to another of guilt and then another of being physically exhausted but happy.

What made Nick happy right now was to be at the Underground. He had magic but he was happy to live the life of a mortal and was happy to not use it as much as Victoria or Abby did. It could have been maybe because Victoria was first-born and therefore, a little more powerful than all of them. Abby probably liked using her magic for the sole reason that she liked reading the cards to predict the future. There were boundaries, however. Nick couldn't use his telepathy to manipulate a person's free will. Victoria couldn't kill anyone innocent no matter how far she fell into darkness always a part of her. Abby couldn't predict the future for her own purposes.

The Underground was one of the only places where he couldn't have anyone's thoughts come through. It was a light static with whispers here or there. The bartenders were mortal. He did that on purpose to separate them from a vampire's thirst and a werewolf's feral instincts. The more Nick did that, the more he hoped that there would be something like tolerance and whatever harmony was alive.

Nick busied himself with sending one bartender to the back because they were running low on vodka and Hennessy. He kept a sharp eye on the rowdy yet funny werewolves taking shots and chuckled shaking his head.

"Newman!" Griff shouted jovially over the crowd. Griff was a repeat customer and despite looking intimidating, one of the coolest dudes he ever met. He grinned at him, amber eyes glinting with mischief. He beckoned him over with a large hand and Nick shook his head, smiling back. "C'mon, brother! You gotta indulge in libations with us!"

"I'm workin', man!"

"So's this beer!" Griff replied, slightly slurring. "Smooth shit! Ain't that right, Tessa?"

Tessa was scrappy but small. She was the runt of the pack but she was really sweet and one of Mariah's good friends. They were tight – how tight was the question, but he didn't care. She was good people and he liked her. When she came over, Nick always heard the soft sound of her guitar. She turned to Nick, her dark eyes flashing with annoyance toward her leader. She mouthed, "Help me, Merlin."

Merlin. That was Mira's nickname for him. It stuck and had he grown used to it. In response, Nick tossed an apologetic look her way and mouthed, "No can do. Sorry."

Nick laughed out loud as Griff's attention turned from him to the tall, leggy blonde sashayed his way from the direction of the blood booths. It was where the vampires got their blood fix from donor mortals without getting so thirsty they were uncontrollable. Every so often, he saw the odd romantic match budding there. He wasn't okay with a sizable portion of his customer base reduced to drained bodies on the floor. Besides, blood stains weren't easy to get out. There, Nick structured his bar to make everybody happier and less homicidal.

"Gracie Turner, you're still breakin' my heart!"

Grace let a seductive smile through and ran a finger down Griff's rough beard.

"You're still welcome to look, not touch, sweetie."

"I'll wait for you, woman! Newman, tell her!"

"He'll wait for you," Nick said to Grace as she strode with swinging hips to the bar. She smirked seductively at her but behind her flirty exterior was a woman who was resourceful and funny. She often clashed with Sharon because she had dated Travis and currently, flirted with him every opportunity she had. He knew what she was going to have, not because he could sort through her thoughts but because he knew as someone who knew her. She was also smart and had a knack for keeping her ears open for any information needed. Right now, Nick needed answers to questions that had nagged at him for some time. If anyone could come through for him, it was her. "Your usual?"

Grace leaned in, grinning at him, "It's sweet that you know what I want, Handsome."

Nick pulled at a martini glass, poured whatever vodka was left and dropped a bright red cherry into the clear liquid. He slid her drink over to her and sipped it.

"You made this one with love for me, Nick," the blonde winked, hair made gold by the lights. Her nails were painted black, the same colour as her revealing dress. He loved Sharon but he had to admit that Grace Turner was a sexy woman. It was just an observation. She ran a finger up his left hand, the one with the wedding band on it. "I appreciate it, you know…and I could show you how much I appreciate _you_. What do you say?"

"Thank you for the invitation," Nick answered, with a dimpled smile. "You know what I would appreciate from you? I'd be grateful if you could get me that information I asked you for."

Grace's flirtatious mood melted as she glanced down and drained her drink in one sitting. She exhaled and when she looked at him, there was trepidation in her eyes. Nick searched her face and even though she wasn't the reason for it, he grew angry and impatient. A cacophony of thoughts came at Nick, but they were his own. Then one thought louder than the rest came through clearly and with a mocking laugh familiar to him. Nick knew it on a level that went beyond simple knowledge. He knew it as he had heard it sometimes interwoven with trivial thoughts he managed to pick up but not care about. It was so dark, it made every part of his body tense up. _Come find me, Nicholas._

"That's what you wanted to tell me," Nick deduced, more to himself than Grace. " _She's_ back."

Grace gave him a barely seen nod and watched as she grew agitated. For once, Nick understood that kind of agitation. There was always a possibility of having ugliness be stronger than beauty. Darkness could become stronger than light when she descended a suffocating fog. He looked at Grace with a look of gratitude and kissed her cheek. Grace went back to seductive kind of playfulness. Grace put the whole cherry with the stem in her mouth and pulled the tied stem out, pressing it in his palm.

She closed his fingers over the tied palm and stared him in the eye.

"Good luck, Nick," she said seriously with a wry smile. "I wish Victoria luck, too."

Then she was gone in a blur.

Bobby hadn't come back with that fresh supply of alcohol, so Nick cursed and sprinted to his back office. He frantically turned the silver door but of course, it was locked. She always was a drama queen and this was some sick game of hide-and-seek, he had no choice but to play. Nick exhaled, stepped back and made a choice. A simple opening spell was easy but he chose regular brute strength. He aimed a foot at the doorknob and kicked it open so forcefully, the door frame splintered. He stepped inside and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he walked into his office, Bobby lay dead on his floor. His skin was a sickly blue, and his eyes empty. His lips wore a morbid shade of black She smirked at him, feet on his desk.

"I forgot how satisfying mortals make me. It was nice of you to send Brody my way."

"Bobby. Monsters don't know the concept of nice."

A pensive look grew on her face and peered at the body on his floor. "I called him Brody as I watched begging me for breath. What a shame especially as the light left those baby blues. I literally took it and it was quite a thing to behold."

Nick glared, pointing behind him, "Get out."

She took her feet off his desk, hopped over the shattered framed picture on the floor and walked toward him. She grinned, twirling a curl around her finger.

"Is that how you greet family?"

Nick stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at her coolly.

"We're anything but family," Nick shot back, and searched her wild blue eyes with his. He was trying to find out her intentions. She blocked him mentally and even if Nick did have access, he knew better than to venture somewhere hard to escape. Trying to find out her purpose and hope against hope it was different than the original. Looking around her and the broken frame proved him wrong. He frowned again, annoyed. Anger appeared on the emotional fringes.

"Ouch."

She laughed.

"No more games," Nick said again in quiet anger. "What do you want, Lilith?"

Lilith brightened up but her eyes turned dark.

"Three things," she answered, and paused. Nick observed her as she listed her demands on her fingers. "I want what's mine, Nick. Secondly, I want to find my sister. Thirdly," she exhaled, angrily, nearly grabbing her hair as she combed her hair back with a hand. "I want Billy and Phyllis. Preferably dead, but I'm going to have to make do for the time being."

Nick stared at her, still angry but confused.

"And you came here to tell me all that? You're a big girl. Doesn't concern me. However," Nick narrowed his eyes, stepping up to her. "Phyllis is my friend and she can't be handled. I know her well enough. You'll have a harder time killing her. Billy is the father of my niece and nephew. He's irritating on a good day but he isn't stupid-ish. So, you lose there."

Lilith almost cackled. "I never lose, Nicholas. Your sister wouldn't let that happen."

Protectiveness with edges of magic burned underneath his skin.

"Victoria has nothing to do with you. Not anymore."

"Here's something else you should already know. I'm _very_ persuasive. I always get my way."

—

Billy would have found this forest peaceful if he wasn't confused. All he knew about this guy was that Patrick seemed too comfortable with sharp objects, was a shady dude and was his direct relative. He was looking at his great-great-great-great-great — how many times – great-grandfather. Billy watched Patrick bristle and then stop so quickly it threw him slightly off balance. It made the throbbing in his side come back. Then Patrick relaxed, scanned the woods with the high trees and branches. They carried bright green leaves on them. Patrick exhaled a breath and sank down on a rotting log. Running a hand through his damp hair, he glanced down at the dirt forest floor and then raised his head to stare at Billy. He tilted his head in curiosity and let his eyes travel to the hand holding his side.

"What's wrong with ye?" Patrick inquired. Aside from the thick Irish brogue, Billy noted that he spoke perfect English. Based on whatever his father told him, he was sure his ancestor would have spoken Gaelic more than anything.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"If I truly wanted your guts on the road, I would've slit yer belly," he replied with a shrug and went into his satchel and pulled out some kind of canteen. Patrick took a swig out of it and then winced but he smiled, revealing dimples. He held it out to him. "Quells the pain."

Billy smirked back, and took it before taking a drink himself. It was sweet, a little bit tart, and strong in the back of his throat. The heat made him wince and the sharp intake of breath he took was involuntary but as Patrick promised, the pain in his side was easy to tolerate. It transitioned from an intense pounding to a light throbbing. Billy's clothes still clung to his skin, still damp from the rain. He handed it back and Patrick pocketed it but Billy couldn't help but stare. He couldn't help but be curious about the shiny object he had seen and what has made Patrick so jumpy, it had Billy feeling a blade at his throat.

"Listen, man," Billy said, breaking the silence by going straight to the point. "I have questions. Why am I here? Being Hostage of the Hour is irritating at best."

Patrick squared his shoulders, the twinkle in those hazel eyes gone and his face going back to the stoic, serious face.

"Because it was ordained."

Wait. What? On what planet, was it fated or destined for him to land in another place he didn't want to be in? Billy glared. He had Marco Polo McPsychopath on his ass for reasons he didn't understand. He was away from Phyllis, away from his children, missed even Victoria, and missed making Travis miserable.

"Someone needed to kick ye in the arse, Billy!"

"For what?"

Patrick angrily pulled the shiny object and threw it at Billy. He was injured and in bad shape but his reflexes seemed to be sharper than ever. Staring quizzically at it, Billy felt it humming in his palm. It seemed to some weird jewelry of some sort. Flat silver with stones of dark onyx and deep purple amethyst. The other man stood and even in 11th century Ireland, the emotions were the same. Patrick grew prickly again but he was familiar with that instant spark of a temper because he saw himself. Hazel eyes sparked with pure anger and Billy felt his own anger rouse itself. For a minute, he forgot his pain and all he could hold on to was the rough currents of his frustration and uncertainty he couldn't verbalize.

"Because you're a bloody—" Patrick ground out, and stopped suddenly. He nodded toward the object Billy turned over his hands. It was something strange and odd but the coolness of it felt comfortable in his palm. Billy was met with a glowering gaze. "It was supposed to end with Anna Maria."

"Who the hell is that?"

"Seductress with eyes as the sea," Patrick groused, shaking his head. "The archangel Michael dragged her soul to hell but she didn't perish."

Billy sighed, and rubbed his head. Alcohol usually made him drunk. When he was drunk, it eroded the miniscule common sense he had. When he got drunk alone, it was a party in which he danced all by himself. No seriously he did dance all by himself and made a series of prank calls to every name he could in his contact list. When Phyllis was around and the alcohol buzzed his veins, he slurred everything hidden beneath his sarcastic façade and spoke with a truth that was way too honest for him. Billy would then trail off between being shitfaced and passed out with Phyllis cradling his head in her lap while she smiled at him. She would sigh and call him her favourite mess, fingers in his hair.

But here was Billy sober and most likely insane. The only thing that changed was the environment. Did Patrick want to kill him? Perhaps, but Billy had to use his journalistic abilities.

"What do you mean Anna Maria didn't die?" Billy asked, evenly.

"Her body did but her spirit still roams. That wench travelled," Patrick asked, bluntly. He shrugged. "She was beautiful and any man with breath fell at her feet. She bore a bastard child."

"Right," Billy surmised, with a nod and a furrow in his brow. His side throbbed to let him know that his rib was still cracked. It was like a physical, clingy ex-girlfriend who didn't understand how a break-up worked. He couldn't call what he had with Alexandra – she called herself Lexi because she thought it was this cute trend, but Billy found it pretentious as hell – a relationship or a breakup. It was three weeks of sex. There was no breakup either. It was more of him climbing out of her window half-dressed and running to his car in true Forrest Gump fashion. "And there's a plot twist?"

Patrick titled his head in confusion, narrowing his eyes. "Plot…twist?"

Oh. Right. 11th century Ireland.

"Have ye gone daft, man?"

"No," Billy answered, slowly and changed the subject again. Running through his mental list of travel destinations before landing in Hong Kong, Dublin was on it. However, Billy knew not one word of Irish Gaelic so it shocked him more when it seemed to tumble flawlessly and effortlessly out of his mouth. It was as comfortable as the amulet in his grasp. "Lean ar aghaidh." _Continue on._

Patrick gave him a sly, knowing smile but obliged.

"Her spirit finds a new vessel throughout the centuries. Someone with her blood."

Okay. This centuries-old dead-sorta-undead witch was traveller. Anna Maria was a weird ass magical nomad. Or, this witch was merely the original of many photocopies throughout one continuous stretch of time. Oh, _reincarnation_. Anna Maria may have died, but at the same time lived. She traveled and—oh shit.

"Are you saying she dies and comes back as someone else?"

"Aye," Patrick confirmed with a nod. Several birds chirped in the distance. He added softly, glancing down. For the first time, Billy saw worry in this man's armour and because of it, he tried to ward off the cold fingers of panic ready to choke down. His sides are hurt. He didn't need to be scared. If he was scared, no one would see it and Billy wouldn't acknowledge it. Patrick strode over to him, and clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. He didn't sound as rough and his Irish brogue was lighter. "You were betrothed to one of her descendants."

Billy stared at Patrick, unable to unravel anything. Betrothed meant married. If Anna Maria was hopping from one descendant to the next, and he was married to—

"Are you saying… are you saying I have to protect my girlfriend from my _ex-wife_ and my children from their mother?" Billy questioned, in horror he couldn't keep down. Patrick nodded and finally let his anger unravel. It bled into the damp forest floor and crawled up the trees, coiled itself around its branches and turned the bright green leaves dark and brittle.

Patrick glared at him, familiar annoyance on his features. Billy said something in Gaelic that could have been closely translated to idiot. How he knew that escaped him.

"John and Katherine are well," he explained, evenly, stepping back. "You and your girlfriend are not. Tall, beautiful, hair the flames of the pyre, strange name?"

Billy took a moment to smile fondly. Sounded about right. _Phyllis_.

"Wait, how did you know that?"

Patrick smiled mysteriously. "Do not ask."

Billy sighed, "What now? And still, what does that have to do with me?"

He was referring to this metallic thing…in his hands. Every question Billy had after that stopped in his throat because a wind too strong for him. It peeled the leaves off their branches only for those them to snap easily like toothpicks. The colour melted and it suddenly grew dark around him. His eyes quickly scanned around for the center, for familiarity, for sanity and even for Patrick. A force swept his legs from under him and Billy fell hard on his side, reigniting the flames so hot he thought they would turn his insides to ash. He pulled in more air or at the very least, tried, but it sounded somewhere being a gasp and a rough cough. The metallic taste of his own blood came back to the back of his mouth again. A hard foot rammed into it again and cried out again, cursing. His vision swam and through a curtain of renewed rain, Patrick stood above him again. His face was unreadable and his eyes of hazel eyes vacant. Billy grit his teeth and raised himself up, eyes full of determination. Staining the wet muddy floor from spitting up more blood, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. If Patrick wanted some, then fine. Guess he'd have to get the full William Foster Abbott Ass Kicking Experience.

Billy counted in his head from three and on one, tackled Patrick to the damp ground. When Patrick attempted to stab him in the neck, Billy felt himself instinctively barely dodge its deceptively sharp point. Maybe it was anger. Perhaps, it was frustration. Hell, it might have been the need to survival and satisfy his growing, breathing curiosity. He floated in and out of the brawl and couldn't piece together what happened in the melee. He only recalled catching Patrick's powerful fist on his palm, inches away from his face. However, Billy couldn't catch his knee rammed into his rib with more force again. He erupted from this kind of pain and tumbled around in the darkness. Something glinted at him, brightness like a flickering firefly. It was gone and then Billy was, too.

—

Victoria sent her assistant, Juliet, away with a grateful smile. She admired that the young woman was hungry and eager to learn. There was room for upward mobility for her. When Juliet headed out, she saw Billy coming into her Brash & Sassy office. Glancing up briefly, Victoria's focused blue eyes went back to analyzing the pile of papers on her desk. She had a photoshoot to schedule which Lily was happy to do. It was nice to see Lily more enthusiastic about a job she clearly was perfect for after Cane's death a couple years earlier. There were distributors to meet, business meeting to set up and a few important e-mails to answer because she could head home.

Travis was just as busy as she was, busy expanding Hank's while renovating his original one while trying to get more polished versions of Hank's off the ground. He was good with finances, balancing numbers and weighing cost against revenue and this often made his thought process run wild until they were incoherent even to her. Their bar and dance floor, she recalled with a smile, was where it had happened. Billy walked in and closed the door. Victoria loved this. She loves doing normal work, work that didn't involve magic, spells or the occasional potion.

"Hey, Billy," she greeted, without looking at him. "Slow day of spilling tea at Restless Style?"

Victoria looked up to see his charming smile, as he leaned back comfortably in the chair across from her desk. He crossed a leg over his knee and waved a hand dismissively.

"Not to worry, Victoria," he said, smoothly with mischief in his eyes. "My tea stays steeping. But there's some nserious hardware you're wearing."

Her eyes travelled to the diamond and aquamarine stone engagement ring and smiled. It was an intimate proposal, and just to play with him, she hesitated in saying yes. Ultimately, she did after Travis told her everything that encompassed what they were and who they could be. She wanted it as much as he did and despite her reservations about marriage, Victoria say yes with tears in her eyes and joy from within on her face. Then Travis put a quarter in the jukebox that had drawn them together. Victoria let him lead her while they danced on the sticky bar floor. She was always stunned at how much more beautiful it was when sunlight penetrated it. It really did remind her of sailing on soft of ocean currents.

"Yeah," Victoria admitted with a smile she couldn't hold back. "It was unexpected but I'm happy."

"That's good and I'm happy for you, Vick," Billy said with a grin. She knew he was sincere. He looked at her in a way that melted her heart as his wife, annoyed her during her rough divorce, and now in a way that made her glad that had this warm friendship despite everything. "As long as you're happy and he's good to the kids, I'm all for it."

"Thank you. So, why are you here? I know you didn't drop by for small talk."

Billy stood up and held her hand with the ring on it. He whistled lowly admiring her ring before glancing back at her. She took her hand back while Billy sat on the edge of her desk.

"How do you know that? Maybe I decided a congratulatory plane was too much and I decided to tone it down."

Victoria turned over a Brash and Sassy folder in her hands.

"Toning anything down is not in your repertoire."

Billy smirked at her, "I love that you still get me because you do, I know you'll do something for me if I ask you to."

Victoria's interest was piqued. She was curious but tentative. It could have been anything from setting off a police car alarm and playing with the mind of an officer long enough so Billy could double park freely. It could be something as simple as switching schedule days around so Johnny and Katie could sleep over at his place for a night or two. Currently, Billy was getting her to budge on allowing Katie to keep the unicorn she has conjured up in the living room. She named her Cinnamon. Billy was all for it, while Victoria wasn't sure that was wise. Either way, her tentativeness was justified. She braced herself for what Billy was going to ask of her but it wasn't annoyance or even compliance. It was something like quiet shock that left her speechless. It wasn't that shocking in hindsight because he did love her. Victoria knew when Billy was all in – a phrase between them still – with Phyllis because he fell hard for her, loved her hard and did grand things that matched that love's magnitude.

"A…daylight ring?"

"Yeah," Billy answered, confirming it with a tone that told her he was serious and sure. "Phyllis doesn't need protecting but I love her enough."

"I know. I know you do. It's weird. Both of us in a marriage that ends in sadness but we accidentally find people to make us whole," Victoria replied, observant.

"We had a good ride."

"Definitely. Johnny and Katherine were the best things about our relationship."

She studied her ex's face and saw an array of emotions shift on his face in the silence that settled between them. They also blurred together but Victoria knew them well enough to separate them. Aside from the love for Phyllis, she saw Billy's face be pensive and thoughtful. She figured Billy wanted to give Phyllis something special from him like every other couple did, but wanted her protected from any kind of perceived danger. As much as Victoria tried to separate herself from it, this aspect of her life ran through her, around her and ensnared her beyond any kind of freedom.

She wasn't supposed to be free of what she dealt with alone but she wasn't alone. She felt that it. Dark, opaque and heavy on her very soul. The idea of being alone is what made her carefully broach this subject. For the first time in all the time she'd known him, she was afraid to overstep. Victoria glanced down, putting the folder on her desk. She exhaled and placed her hands on her hips. A lock of her dark hair freed itself from her behind her ear and Victoria pushed it back there.

"Before I ask you this, I'm apologizing if I overstep in advance."

Billy looked at her, raising a curious look on his face.

"I don't think you could overstep. We've pretty done everything to each other to cancel that out."

So, she did. She asked him the question growing anew in her head and marinating in his.

"Billy…" Victoria started, raising her eyes to meet his. "Somewhere in your head, has being turned crossed your mind?"

His face went from stunned to being pensive again. Billy rubbed a tired hand over it and a slow tension leeched into his skin underneath his clothes. He exhaled a breath of his own, glancing down before he looked at her with a self-deprecating laugh and shake of his head. Victoria stood silently and didn't anticipate an answer. It wasn't her question to ask and the answer something he wasn't entitled to give her but he did.

"The truth? It's not a conversation Phyllis and I have had yet. Has it crossed my mind? Sure. I mean, you're a witch without the flying broom. I love a vampire because well, she's the most human and your boyfriend," Billy corrected, that look on his face – the look he got when he was about to say or do something completely out of line. It was normal for him though, "…sorry, your fiancé probably likes it when you scratch his belly. Wait, do _you_ scratch his belly? I'm just curious."

There is was. Victoria grew annoyed and with a finger levitated a pen until it floated threateningly in front of him, silver point glinting at him.

"Curiosity will kill you."

"Fine, fine…" Billy relented, hands up. "I'll leave Travis alone. At least for a few hours."

She sighed and dropped the pen. It lightly clattered. She was never going to hurt him with it. Victoria didn't hate himself enough – or at all – to do it. She never hated him, no matter how close to the edge he had pushed her. The silence came back and Victoria combed a hair back. Of course, she would craft a daylight ring for Billy to give Phyllis if he wanted to give her one eventually. But Billy never finished the answer to her question to threw out to some part of the universe. It floated around and didn't quite hit the ground until Billy let it.

"I'm…not sure honestly, Vick. I'm the king of snap decisions. I know that. You know that. I don't think things through and I mess up."

 _Not always,_ Victoria thought but never said because she didn't want to interrupt.

He shrugged, finally, "I don't know. I guess, I'll have more time to think it through for once. It's a nice idea and I guess, I haven't wrapped my head around going through it like something easy to decide right away. Whoa," Billy playfully marvelled, "I'm all mature."

"Well, it's a new look that suits you every so often," Victoria half-joked. It was her turn to be genuine. "Listen. I'm happy to handle the daylight ring request."

"Thank you."

"And Billy, you're like my best friend now," Victoria confessed, with a soft smile as she came around her desk to stand in front of him. "Whatever you decide with that other dilemma you have, I'll help you through it. You have my full support. I'm glad we're in a good place."

"Same here, Newman."

Billy playfully nudged her and in response, she swatted his arm as they both laughed.

—

In her basement, Victoria had put the young woman to sleep only to wake when she told her to. She did that for three reasons. The first was to get the final pieces of her spell together until they clicked together. The second was because she need Phyllis' nervous energy and agitation to be placed into helping her because they had one objective. Surprisingly, Phyllis did help after a bit – okay, a lot – of cajoling and the last reason was because her visions returned full force but still, in fragments still lacking clarity. There was still a blindingly white room, speckled with their dots of crimson. Johnny was right. Billy was still hurt and bleeding. Victoria felt something turn a lens, giving her a little more detail. It was as if she was standing in front of a canvass on an easel. There was a little more colour. Depth and perception became more accurate and shading made the environment breathe. She could see Billy a little clearer but he bled from his head, dark stubble on his face. His chest rose and then fell with every shallow breath he took in. He lay still on some kind of cot. Then Victoria saw the dark heeled shoes of a woman. They were stark against the sea of white Billy seemed to float on top. Victoria saw the woman sigh, shake her head and her light green eyes scanned his face with evident concern. Then the vision faded and the threads of clarity snapped and disappeared.

"He's alive," Victoria disclosed, quietly with a demure kind of relief. Phyllis is the middle of handing her the ruby she had asked for, absentmindedly when her head snapped up. The redhead looked at her, quizzically.

"What?'

"Billy's okay," Victoria replied, taking the dark red stone from her. She closed her eyes, inhaled and exhaled as the stone warmed up in her hands. She focused on channeling the puzzle pieces of her visions into the stone. Billy was born in the month of July and she used his birthstone as something of a compass to found his whereabouts. Victoria placed the stone in the middle of the pentagram on the map of Wisconsin. "He's alive but we need to move quickly."

She opened the two vials of blood and maintain a steady flow as it hit the ruby. Katherine's blood remained concentrated on it. When Johnny's blood hit the ruby, it slowly moved in a wet puddle and bled into the purple coloured amethyst, darkening the middle. Phyllis' eyes were fill with renewed anger and determination. She stormed over to the basement opening, ready to disappear into the night when Victoria threw her arm in a smooth circle counter clockwise, slamming it so hard it rattled. Then she turned around, bent and found an old family dagger. The hilt was black intertwined with accents of silver that twisted around like a serpent twisted around the Forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden. It was hers now. It had always been hers before she could comprehend what it meant.

"Open this door before it becomes a pile of splinters!" Phyllis yelled and stormed over to her. Victoria stared at her calmly as she was all recklessness, fangs and fear.

"You're scared."

"No! I'm not," Phyllis snapped. "I want to rip whoever took Billy to pieces!"

"So do I," Victoria volleyed, back. When Phyllis was fire, she was ice. Victoria watched Phyllis let go of a little bit of her rage. Some of it still radiated off of her. In places of her fangs, were tears that filled her eyes. She turned away so Victoria didn't see them, but she knew. Victoria didn't have time to cry. All she could do was work to find him so her children had their father. A part of Victoria still loved Billy because of nostalgia. It wasn't romance. Her heart belonged to another but she cared about him too much to lose him. She knew what it was like to have someone walk into something unknown. She resisted the urge to play with her engagement ring while sinking into her own kind of worry. Phyllis was drowning in hers. She glanced down at the ancient dagger in her hands and raise her eyes back to Phyllis' face again. A tear fell down the vampire's cheek and she roughly whipped it away, and cursed. "Give me your palm."

Phyllis stared at Victoria, confused now, "So, you lock us in here, dangle that girl in front of my nose and now, you want to hold my hand?"

"No. I need your blood on that map. It'll accelerate finding Billy quicker," she explained, and then added softly, "and he'll be able to feel you wherever he is. Until we can get there, I know he's scared beneath the bravado. That's what you can do for him. Yell at him, call him an idiot, be angry he scared you half to death, be relieved when he comes back, make him laugh when he can't hide his fears, and tell him he's going to be okay even though you're lying to yourself at the time and don't really know…"

She trailed off and now, it was Phyllis' turn to realize she was scared, too. There was something bigger. Something darker coming. It felt as if finding Billy was a loose thread standing out in a quilt that could unravel when pulled.

 _Come home to me._

 _Always._

"We talkin' about me or you?" she inquired. "If it helps, Travis will walk right through your doggie door before you know it."

Victoria narrowed her eyes, "You mean, the door you shattered?"

"Your kid stabbed me in the shoulder," Phyllis argued, back to her regular defiance. "And it's not like you _don't_ have just one door, Victoria."

"Like it's not like you have other shoes," Victoria retorted, exasperated. Her head pounded especially intensely and painfully tonight. She winced that at the sharp feeling in the back of her head but shook it off. It was nothing and even it was, aspirin would fix it. "I'm going to need to put all of my concentration and energy into this. I can't lose focus. So, can you do me another favour?"

"Which is?"

"Watch Johnny and Katherine for me?"

Victoria expected for to protest but she didn't. Phyllis merely complied.

"They're good kids," she admitted, alarmingly honest with a smile on her lips. Victoria saw she was genuinely happy to do it but there was a flash of something like pain in her eyes and it was gone. Really, the only reason Phyllis disrupted her house were her two youngest children. Reed didn't care for her and went from indifference to slight annoyance. Maybe the added bonus for Phyllis was being a pain but Victoria often walked by her children's rooms to check on them. When she came in, Phyllis wasn't physically there but she knew because her perfume always lingered in the air and the windows were never quite closed, cool air making the room a little drafty. Sometimes, Victoria saw her reading Katie a story as her daughter listened with rapt attention. Other times, she saw through the door left slightly ajar, Phyllis watching Johnny sleep with gentleness and a look of love and affection on her face. "I care about them. It's not hard. Two little pieces of Billy."

She said the last part softly, Victoria noted because she understood.

"Thank you," she said gratefully and meant it. Those two little words carried many meanings and rubber bands wrapped around them. She didn't want to stretch those bands until they snapped. So, Victoria stuck to the direct meaning of the phrase. She exhaled, all work and no play and held out her so she could accept Phyllis' palm. "Okay, _now_ give me your palm."

Phyllis eyed her warily, "You look too comfortable with that thing."

"Because I am."

That earned Victoria a dirty look when she grinned and slowly pressed the sharpened blade against the love line of Phyllis' palm from one end to the other. She heard her hiss in pain and looked up quickly to see Phyllis wince. Dark red blood tinted black welled from the deep gash and spilled over in a steady stream from the side of Phyllis' hand. When Victoria saw it was enough, she withdrew her hand and shook it as the gash sealed itself back up. She reopened the basement door and Phyllis strode away, yelling over her shoulder, "That," she referred to the young trapped in a deep sleep, "better be there when I get back!"

Victoria watched as the head of red hair disappeared with every step taken up the stairs. A powerful wind carrying the voices of warlock and witches dead and gone sealed the basement door shut. She closed her eyes and allowed it to blow on her skin, the touch feather light. Her ancestors whispered secrets and told her things engulfed in knowledge no one wanted to know but she did. She craved it, wanted to study it and immerse her in the darker qualities of its magic. Flames dancing and twisting on the wicks of white candles raised themselves to high pillars. White candles slowly turned black and she felt the full force of her power rush to the surface. It gave her a painful acidity that was comfortable as it fizzed beneath her alabaster skin.

Smooth Latin left Victoria's lips and headed to another place beyond her long reach. She conjured up the painting of her ex-husband in the white room. She started to paint over it with her brush strokes, her colours of grey and the permanent stains of charcoal on her hands.

"Sanguis enim arbor et ex una tenebris  
Qui perit quaere…"

 _Blood which feeds the dark tree  
Seek he who is lost._

—

Once upon a time in a place nestled in an invisible enclave was a garden.

It was a mythical place or seemed that way. It was peaceful, bursting at the seams with colour and carried natural beauty crafted by nurturing yet powerful. Benevolence reigned over this utopian paradise. That was it. That was the heart of the matter. Utopia. A place of complete perfection and there was no such thing. It was abstract for any human mind to understand and too simple for other creatures to care about. There was deception because nothing was tangible. Nothing was real or honest. It was but a mirage seen through the mirror of chaos and disarray. The earth split in halves and then fourths, then eighths until there was no numerical label. The plants lost their pigments and withered in a slow death. The wolves did devour the sheep and the predatory hawk consumed the lowly hummingbird. There stood the glowing tree planted in straw-like grass and cracked earth. The serpent slithered in dust and deeply embedded its venomous fangs into the heel of the weak. Ah, there was the proverbial snake with temptation and allure for the strong coiled around its muscular body and in between its scales of many beautiful colours.

In this garden resided myths, reality and monsters.

In this garden was where Billy Abbott lay, where Lilith commanded him to stay, and where Eve made him rest.


	5. 4: The Escape

**The Ghost of You  
Summary: **"If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica. [AU]  
 **Notes:** There are no new notes. Enjoy. Actually, I lied. There are. I'm mad busy so this chapter is short, but it has to be for story reasons, but I owed this an update I think, to tide you guys over. There is more. Always. Stay tuned. Forgive any typos. I'm tired.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Escape**

Eve sighed, letting the tension slowly unfurl from her heart and fall down all the way down to her feet. She was used to this. She knew how things went and understood that the more time was afforded someone, the more opportunities for joy were available. Pain was also a great imminent risk as well. In all the years Eve existed, she felt a sense of confusion she hadn't felt in a long time. She knew herself. She knew where she stood but again, here was this tall, vain vampire exhausted and bloody playing with her. Eve was in a game she didn't consent to playing. Marisol always used her hands to rearrange the game board and shuffle the deck so much, Eve found it tedious to understand. It was just another instance of Marisol winding her up again.

She let her face hard be as stone. Eve let her eyes sweep over the blood stains on the library carpet even when she left the organ in her grasp fall from her fingers. Marisol was said she was beautiful, as if she were using her beauty as a weapon. Now, that weapon was neutralized but darkening her library floor. There was no time for guilt or ruminating on whatever choices Eve could have made. A small bit of guilt tip toed quietly, using fragile fingers to tip her moral compass in one direction or the other.

Eve was spinning in this expanse as dark as her cravings, the fatal inclinations she slowly let trickle back in because honestly, she couldn't hold back and for a brief moment, felt whole.

Marisol lay before her feet like a trampled exotic plant and orange coloured eyed stared transfixed at the form. There was no snarky remark. No infuriating riddle. No rare smile, or wastefully expensive perfume that assaulted all five of Eve's senses and beckoned the beast forth. Eve still tried to get the peppery taste of Marisol's blood out of her mouth as soon as she dove into it. The metal was cool, but the tanned skin was scorching. In a daze, Eve watched Marisol whisper a quiet thank you and goodbye. Emotional novocaine started like a drip and gradually swelled to a waterfall. She couldn't recall how but Marisol was gone, and the only indicator of her presence was the discarded knife and the onyx coloured stains on the carpet. Eve frowned because the edges of one stain was dry and she could imagine how rough it was going to be when she eventually touched it.

She felt his palms against her bare arms and for once, Eve flinched.

He pulled her in, and she let her eyes close. Eve let herself rest against him and let Johnathan's earthy musk in instead, triggering serenity within her. Dominic. With another inhale, Eve caught the sharp undertone of antiseptic. Most people would shy away from it but it was distinctly him. Eve's eyes remained the colour of a lingering sunset as they traced the pathways and highways underneath skin pressed against hers.

"I killed her," she admitted in the silence. Eve pressed her lips to his hairy forearm, feeling the presence of her fangs and the buzzing of her bloodlust. She couldn't stop the broad smile that spread across her face. "I killed Marisol, Dom. What am I becoming?"

Dominic spun her around and tucked a lock of her hair behind an ear.

"You're not becoming anything you weren't before. You know," Dominic said, kissing her forehead, "I should hate this guy because of the army of people he's got."

"It's not an army. I've seen those. It's nowhere near that large."

Dominic smiled softly at her and kissed her forehead. "It's a cavalry, E."

Eve sighed, smiling back against his form. His breath was steady, his heartbeat strong. There he was. Dominic's humor was dry with shades of darkness that made her feel safe even though she was the stronger of the two. Eve admired his quiet strength because it was the most powerful. He was a doctor, a healer but never sought to heal her because he did not believe she was broken. Dominic was kind within the confines of his career, was capable of smiling because it was one of her favourite parts of him and instead of expressing anger, Eve was fascinated by how her boyfriend's anger could be shown through his logic. It was uncommon but unique to him.

She felt his embrace grow slack and glanced at him to see a furrow between his thick brows. Eve shook him, slightly, as if to pull him back down from wherever he flew from. Literally, yes, he could but she knew that. Eve always knew, but when he mentally drifted away, it was a surprise and she didn't like that very much. Eve would have much rather he tell her he had a change of heart and wanted marriage with the two point five kids after all.

Eve frowned and moved away from him and exhaled.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you drift away in your head, and I have to pry whatever it is out of you."

Dominic sighed, and shook his head, "You're not going to have to pry this out of me. You care about Billy and no, I'm not jealous. I'm not going to fly away in a green eyed rage and literally go blow his house down. He cares about you, Eve because I felt it when I did what I could to make sure he didn't go into shock and die," he disclosed calmly to her and the surprise forced her sharp orange eyes to fade away and her teeth to be not so pointed. He smiled, broadly and proudly. "Physiological reaction. Works every time."

"Dominic!" Eve cried, annoyed even though she was thankful. "Thank you for not giving m the burden of having to turn him. You felt….what?"

"He's sleeping off a wicked head injury and broken ribs. Minimal internal bleeding. If my deductions are correct, I would say that Marco went to town on him. However, he pushed Billy too far. There's something about him. He's changed."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. He's still very much mortal. I'm certain of it, but Marco may have triggered something in him. I'll figure it out."

Eve rubbed her temple in exasperation and turned annoyed, slightly worried green eyes on her lover. The stress and tension slowly crept back. Dominic grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. Marco Annacelli was an idiot with vision too damn narrow and Billy had a hand in pushing himself over whatever cliff he danced along. Of that, she was sure. She knew the guy well enough. If Marco did push him too far, Billy had a little bit of self-help. Dominic's face continued to be pensive for a few moments before his phone went off.

"My mom's at the hospital. She's in town."

"She is?" Eve replied, genuinely surprised. Dominic's mother lived in Colorado.

"Yep. I asked her and luckily, she has a conference in Milwaukee so she was able to make the trip," he explained. Dominic pressed a kiss to her lips, and smiled softly. "We'll figure this out if. It doesn't hurt having Dr. Casey Reed's expertise."

"You never told me the Newmans were related to you."

"You never told me Lilith was your big sister either. We don't tell each other these things."

Eve sighed and looked away. It was probably something they should have disclosed to each other before it was all about to unravel. Eve mused that perhaps, somewhere in the conversations where they shared their deepest, darkest desires, they should have known the roots of one family tree was about to tangle with the trunk of an ancient one.

"Probably should have."

"Yeah," Dominic replied, letting the silence hang between them. She glanced away and absentmindedly ran a finger along the weathered spine of Sophie's Choice. A book that was heavy, tragic and no victorious characters. "I'll see you at home."

"Be careful."

"You as well, E."

—

If Lilith had a capacity for guilt, she would feel guilty. If she had the ability to understand this mere mortal was a woman thinking she was in for a good time, she wouldn't have picked her up but even away from her garden, Lilith couldn't resist such beauty and things made artfully. This woman was one of the easy ones. One of the first to let their desires run wild and untamed because of the alcohol. This girl laughed as Lilith shoved her against the wall of an apartment too good for her right down to the table of marble and snakeskin motif dear to her heart. Dark eyes stared at her as a thumb ran across her bottom lip. Electricity snapped in the air, danced along the walls and crept along the ceiling.

Lilith grinned wickedly, pulling apart from another kiss and relished in the softness of red hair between her fingertips. She ran a sharp nail down the redhead's face and smiled as Dawn flinched. Innocence and questioning filled those doe eyes as she ran a hand over soft skin of her arm. The fine hairs of Dawn's arms swayed like fragile blades of grass against a gentle wind.

"What's wrong?"

Dawn glanced down and looked back up at her, "You…really want to know?"

"No. But I've had a rough night. It might be nice for you to get it off your chest," Lilith replied, with an encouraging brilliant smile. She strode over the king-sized bed and patted the next to her. Through Dawn, she saw Phyllis with the claws of a griffin and the multicoloured wings of a peacock. Starlight made the claws gold and the blue-dark green feathers mesmerized her. "You're magnificent."

She really was and Lilith knew Phyllis Summers to never do anything quietly, much less die. She was going to break those claws underneath her heels and ripped those pretty feathers off but still, there was a kaleidoscope behind Lilith's blue eyes. Dawn strode over her to and sat. Slender fingers brushed a lock of red hair back gently and it fell over the soft curve of her shoulder.

"What?" Dawn inquired, with a laugh. "Me… Magnificent? You're funny."

"I'm a gem, darling," Lilith answered, smoothly. "I'm… smart enough to know that you're afraid. Apprehensive. In pain. The pain," she said, stroking the apple of her cheek. "The pain radiates off of you. I can take it away. Make it stop. I'll make everything stop for you."

Lilith watched Dawn's gaze stay locked on hers. _Good._ What a good fly she was, willing to entangle herself in her web. What a stupid woman she was, but someone beautiful was going to die tonight and she couldn't help but be happy.

"How?"

"Easy," Lilith answered, with a shrug and she oozed predatory charm this time. "I'm going to kill you. You're afraid but you won't react or run. It doesn't benefit me. Your life does and," she gripped Dawn's wrist and pressed a kiss to it, "I will have it tonight, but not now. Brielle's going to have to wait to see you a little longer. It's horrible when you've lost your little sister, isn't it?"

Dawn's face flushed and her eyes filled with tears.

"Yes. Make it stop. Like you said you could."

Lilith held her face, watching Dawn's flushed skin slowly morph to the blue she thought was the fairer of them all. She then kissed Dawn again, greedily because fuck, this was all hers and nobody would stop her. Dawn was just another healthy tree. She was a tree, begging Lilith to caresses the limbs and brush its leaves. She never did halfway and never followed rules. Lilith gazed upon this tree with smooth limbs and red-orange leaves as if touched by autumn sun and the wind of an upcoming winter wind.

Then Lilith heard it intertwined with Dawn's screaming for her. Whether it was out of fear, ecstasy, she didn't care. About the body in the bed she was going to claim, anyway. Actually, the whole abode was cute, made for her. A castle away from her garden.

… _sanguis enim arbor et ex una tenebris…_

—

"Phyllis…?"

Billy slowly opened his eyes, and squinted the light that seemed as forceful as Patrick's fists. He couldn't see any colour. He couldn't feel anything – not the moisture of the forest floor, the force of Patrick's fists and feet as he fought back because he had so much to fight for. He was back in the white hellhole again when Billy wished for her red hair. He wished for Johnny's bright grin and the sound of Katie's peals of laughter. Billy blinked, and looked around. The room was the same but he was different. He felt different. Did he feel like roadkill Victor had beat at least three times? No, not anymore.

Billy felt a sense of urgency with his clean bill of health. Well, he felt it was clean. He didn't remember how or why he was here, but he was going to get the fuck out. Marco was gone. Marisol – or as he affectionately called her – Miranda, wasn't here to irritate him into submission. The pain in his side was a very distant ache buzzing underneath his skin. His head throbbed and he rubbed it. He slowly rose from the cot and glanced down, seeing there was a blanket bunched at his feet. Curiosity made his heart thud in his ears because holy shit, how did a blanket get there? Had someone tried to smother him while he had been out and missed the mark? Or, did someone save his life or to take it from him later? He felt a gentle tugging in his head, a kind of pleading and a small force of gravity pulling him.

He unraveled in the silence, as his eyes darted around. Fight or flight.

Either way, Billy was on his own buzz, powered by adrenaline and something sounding like Phyllis yelling at him to get the hell out and not be a fucking hero. Fight like hell, but if he had to fly and shoot for the moon, it was okay if he hit a bunch of stars instead because Phyllis would find him somewhere in between. Billy scanned the room again and found himself staring at the door, white like the rest. He could have wondered why he didn't pay attention to it before just like he could have wondered what kind of life fulfillment Marco was lacking because clearly he was, but there was too much weird shit here even for him.

Billy forced himself to move forward out of the cot to the door. He jiggled the knob in between twisting it.

"Damnit!" he cursed, hitting the hard, white surface with a fist. The force made the door rattle against its frame and hinges. He exhaled, resting his head against it. He opened his eyes, focusing on the medium-sized doorknob. Billy twisted the doorknob again a little forcefully and to his relief, the door flew open. "Yes!"

Billy looked around, seeing a long hallway in both directions. He deduced that he may have been taken to some maze of rooms. He rested a hand on the open door, heart in his throat and felt something heavy against his thigh. A cold sensation hit his hand as he felt a familiar series of ridges and smooth areas against his hand. He pulled it out and he was struck with the familiarity colour spectrum of dark purple amethyst, dark onyx and silver. It gave off a soft glow in his hand and then he remembered.

Billy recalled the strange Gaelic becoming familiar on his tongue. He remembered Patrick, the strong smell in the air while Irish rain hit his skin and the drops dripped off his hair. _Anna Maria._ Her. The traveling witch. Patrick's rough voice rattled his head. Anna Maria was a dangerous nomad and now, her spirit rested in Victoria. Something in his gut told him there was more because there was always more. Years of discovering the deeper meaning of human behavior even though it was the sake of commercial sensationalism and mass consumerism told him there was also more. Billy loved his Restless Style readers but they were human. They were greedy little fuckers who chomped at the bit at getting to see more of the elite's problems.

Billy glanced down at this palm and pressed a kiss to it himself before pocketing it. He glanced again to the left and to the right of him.

Then he ran, hoping that this kind of Russian roulette wouldn't kill him.

 _Don't perish, Billy._

He nearly laughed at Patrick's warning but he smiled as he continued to run to wherever freedom and sanity was.

"Not a chance in hell."

Freedom and sanity would have been within reach. It would have been close to touch. It could have been between his steady heartbeats. It could have been near when he ran to touch Phyllis' outstretched hand. His sanity could have been in a few more strides away but something burst in his side and another force grabbed him and pulled him into another place. It wasn't white and he wasn't expecting it to be completely dark either. Billy expected the frustration to boil over and his hands to ball into fists. He rolled onto his side, pulling himself up to his feet fluidly. He was too angry to be stunned and too irritated to wonder how he had done that.

"The buffet's closed!" he yelled angrily into the air around him. "Hurry up and kill me because I'll kill you if you first!"

A foot with a sharp heel slammed into the back of his calf and Billy found himself staring up at a high ceiling part of a Victorian room. An intricately decorated crystal chandelier greeted him as he lay on his back on a soft plush carpet. A familiar face crossed his vision and he couldn't speak as those light green eyes bored into him and she smiled, apologetically at him.

"Eve?" Billy breathed, and then looked at her wide-eyed. What. The. Fuck?

He watched the small woman kneel as he pulled himself up, rubbing his side. Eve knelt and then sat cross-legged in front of him. Billy watched her exhale as the smile slipped off her face and her gaze was piercing but he was defiant.

"I'm glad you're okay. I'm sorry I had to do that."

"Unless this is new property for Restless Style, I don't know what the hell you're doing here," he narrowed his eyes at her as Eve merely stared at him. She sat there so quietly it nearly unnerved him. "So, what are you doing here?"

She glared.

"Are you done?" she snapped, sharply. "Because this will get you killed, Billy."

"I'm a little sick of hearing that. Seriously," he chuckled, humorlessly, "someone should kill me."

"Not before," Eve started to say, pulling out the amulet from her shirt, "we talk about this. Because this Abbott family heirloom starts everything. It started everything and brought you here. The rest of us are just supporting players. You have questions and I'll answer them when I get you out of here and somewhere safe."

Eve rose and so did he. She tossed the amulet back to him and he caught it easily, returning it to its safe place.

Green eyes scanned the room before opening the door after a few moments of silence. She placed her small hands on the door and turned sideways to look at him again. Billy became rattled by another memory. It wasn't earth shattering and wasn't one he would have put in his highlight reel but staring into Eve's eyes, there it was. It was playing in his head with no way to pause, record live or even erase it. Not that he did. Eve was just… Eve. She was shy Evie. His friend. His sounding board. One of the best assistants he had at Restless Style. She was actually his favourite person at work because she was interesting. She was a person Billy thought was too good to be his assistant anymore but she never complained. She would merely listened, gave her opinion if he asked for it and walked away to do something he asked her to.

Billy found her at the idea board, staring intently at a potential cover for the magazine. He watched her and after a few moments of silence, froze and slowly looking up to meet her gaze. Maybe it was a trick of the light or a trick of his eyes but Billy saw the flecks of an orange coloured sun ray in her eyes. _Spill it, Evie. What's in that head of yours?_

Eve merely gave him a barely there smile and lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

 _Simply I'd like to look at this cover myself because it doesn't feel finished to me. If Georgie moved that blurb over to the left to let the headline rest in the reader's line of vision, it would be fine,_ she had answered and then grinned. It was rare for her to do that and there was an edgy quality to it. Her smile was pretty and just maybe, Eve had to get in front of a camera one day, but there was an edge that could split his skin if he touched it. Eve nudged him. _Please ask Phyllis to move in with you. You love her so just ask. She would not refuse._

Billy remembered being stunned yet amused but truthful. He could never lie to her. _Yeah, I do._

 _Okay,_ Eve replied, grabbing her tablet and smiled softly at him this time. _Ask her._

He was seeing that sunburst in her eyes again and he was staring at yet another pair of fangs. Oh. Shit. There was a hardness in her eyes and a coldness in her face before those eyes honed in on him. Billy stared at Eve and then at the hand stretched out to him.

"This is what's going to happen," Eve explained, evenly and sternly. "I'm going to get you out of here because I'm the only other person who can. People are stupidly loyal to Marco here while others have loyalties that are ambiguous. I don't care. I'm going to kill anyone in the way. All you have to do is not die," she sighed, and added quieter and earnestly. "I made sure you were taken care of and fed you my blood to heal you enough to get out of here. I don't feel good about that but it had to be done. It will take a few hours for my blood to leave your system. Until then, do not fucking die on me and make me live with accidentally turning you. Actually, don't die _ever_. You're not weak, Billy. Not even close."

Billy stared at her and then at her hand before he grinned and took it. It was warm. Hot but he didn't burn against the heat but he felt no pain.

Eve sighed, determination and fire crackling in her eyes as she opened the door and started ahead in slow steps. Billy watched her go into her silence again before she softly counted down from three. Three…two…

"Now, Billy!"

He did it. In a hail of loud alarms and bright red lights, Billy Abbott simply ran.


	6. 5: The Raven

**The Ghost of You  
** **Summary:** "If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica. [AU]  
 **Notes:** Hey. Last chapter was short and then one is long. I had to do that to set some stories up and cover a lot of ground because things are happening. So, bear with my ass. My outline is very much in use. I dropped a lot of clues here so really pay attention when reading. If there are any typos, forgive me. It's late and I'm sleepy. I'll look over it in the morning. Buckle up chapter after next.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The Raven**

"What are you doing? We have a problem now!"

Lilith marveled at the glass flute of champagne in her hands. She laughed when the champagne's bubbles tickled her throat and liked how sweet it tasted.

She ignored Marco's urgency and proceeded to pour herself another glass. Lilith was spinning, dancing to a song she knew she loved but couldn't hear and feeling her silk black ribbons streak across her skin.

"No," Lilith clarified with a snort and another laugh. "I'm perfectly fine. It seems you have a problem that will mean nothing to me or anger me. I give you power, prestige, make sure people fear you—"

Marco's blue eyes flashed, "I don't need help being feared."

"You're not that scary, honey. Eve manufactured you. You chose her. Things that are made can be broken," she said, more to herself than him.

"Careful, Lilith…"

"Or what?" Lilith smirked, tone falsely sweet, attention focused back on Marco. She drained the champagne flute and set it on the marble table, next to the half-empty champagne. "You'll do what, hmm? You'll list all of the ways Phyllis is yours? Wax nonsense about you deserve? What Victoria Newman owes _you_?"

"She does owe me."

Lilith giggled at Marco's anger because it meant nothing and it was no match for hers, simmering beneath the surface. She had destroyed empires, and seen brilliant rulers crumble because of their own folly. She looked into his eyes and stroked his face and marvelled at the twisted serendipity of how time could unravel and bend to end life and make copies. She was sure Eve hadn't planned to turn him, but it was amazing to see Jack Abbott's exact copy. Lilith was even sure that Eve had planned to turn Marco all along because as hard as she tried, she knew the depths of her little sister's cruelty. There was no good and bad narrative here. Just some crueler than others. Just some a bit of malevolent than the rest.

"What does she owe you?" Lilith questioned again, as she felt the coldness of Marco's skin under her palm. "Maybe being buried under crumbling Machu Picchu ruins has rattled whatever smarts you think you have. I can assure Victoria Newman is not in your debt."

"And why's that?" Marco inquired, with a slight growl and a grip on her wrist. "I have tracked that amulet for centuries. It rests with her."

"Yes, yes," Lilith said, dismissively and roughly took her wrist back from his grasp. "I know this but you failed, Marco."

Marco narrowed his eyes. "I failed?"

"Yes," Lilith deadpanned. "Oh, _Fearsome_ Leader of the Norte Chico Civilization and you know why?" she questioned, grabbing Marco's tie. She ran her finger along the silk material, momentarily stunned and mesmerized about how smooth and red the fabric was. She yanked down on its at full strength, making the vampire fall to his knees. His eyes widened and she slowly grinned as the tie slowly turned black and Marco's gasps for breath stopped him from struggling. Lilith tilted her head in slight observation and a quick flash of a red-haired woman with soft skin kissed by Peruvian sun in a pure white dress passed as quickly as it came.

"Because," Lilith snarled, driving her hand into his chest to find where a long silent heart resided, "your heart is a hazard."

She chuckled, shaking her head with mock disdain.

"…which makes you a hazard as a whole," she continued, twisting her wrist slowly enough to crack his sternum and feel hardened arteries become rubber bands snapping in her grasp. "Graciela… that's her name. You've played with my garden and my pretty little witch for a rotting, dead woman with a stupid name, Marco. Just like yours."

He was trying to speak, recognition in fading blue eyes at the name.

Paths of black lines twisted themselves like vines underneath his skin. They were like an army of serpents, being charmed by the music she created and let play. Lilith gripped Marco's heart tighter and pulled until she held his misguided, stupid lump of a dark heart in her palm and his blood seeped through her fingers like ink.

A look of disgust came on her face and she screamed, throwing the organ away. She shook the dark drops of blood from her hand and cursed. Usually, Lilith was joyous when there was the blood of another on her hands but not at the expense of her manicure. A rivulet slowly dripped down her thumb and she caught it with her mouth.

"You _fucking_ taste like failure," Lilith groused to the body on the floor. She closed her eyes to get back to her happy place but it felt lost to her. No, her plans wouldn't unravel. It would just shift from one step to next with others in between.

Of course, she had her key but there was always her spare. Lilith had many spares, one shinier and fatal than the last. She sighed, exhaled really like gazing upon the blank page of a book. There were words waiting to be written, prose waiting to be read. Lilith sauntered into the room Dawn lay, dead. A sisterly reunion would have to wait while hers had to happen immediately. She sat, stroking Dawn's face and taking in the faded auburn of her hair. Her eyes were dark and empty. They seemed to beg Lilith to fill them. Here was no longer this intoxicated beauty with the abandon of a butterfly. Now, Dawn was an empty vessel and her delicate wings had been ripped off.

"Remember when I said I'd make the pain stop? Hmm?" Lilith questioned, wistfully. "You really are stupid but thank you for my lovely home. I lied to you and it feels like just as wonderful as the first time, watching Eve crumble. Pity I can't watch you do the same," she continued, tracing a finger over the soft curve of a naked breast. "You're going to land right where I want you to in Billy Abbott's life. You sleep because you'll wake when I tell you to."

Lilith grew pensive, thoughtful even. She let her blue eyes scan Dawn's face, then the quickly decomposing corpse on her floor to the Genoa City skyline.

"When you wake up, you'll take the trash out."

Lilith pressed a light kiss to Dawn's full lips, grabbed her half bottle of champagne and moved to leave.

It was time.

—

She waited, waited and then waited some more. She waited for the ancestors to be wrong and for the cards to change their answer, but she didn't. Heart in her throat, Abby Newman paced her living room, eyes fixed on the row of five cards, the fifth one faced down. She stopped mid-step as her house lights flickered and then dimmed. Abby gasped as a shadow crept as quickly as a blur across her wall and her heart hammered in her chest. Sleep wrapped itself around her like it wasn't a blanket. It felt like a boa constrictor that could have squeezed her to death.

Abby was used to pressure. She was Victor Newman's daughter – the product of something like love between a powerful sorcerer and her mortal mother who Abby swore was magic years ago. Abby was the product of two bloodlines destined to intersect and repel each other but never, ever mingle but it happened more than once. Abby was used to grief by now, and accustomed to loss because the dead never did go away and leave. She was used to carrying heavy burdens most people would buckle under.

Of course, she could handle intense things. She could handle seeing the future in spurts, in colourful tarot cards that were easy for her to read. Abby was the only one who could in her family and it made her feel unique when she was also used to being eclipsed.

This was stupid, she told herself. This was stupid because the future existed but it wasn't set in stone. If she could plan weddings effortlessly from engagement to happy matrimony and be sane, this was nothing.

She rubbed her arm, shuddering but still Abby steeled herself to flip the last one. Steadying a hand she still saw shake, Abby grabbed the last card and flipped it over. _The shadow card._ Her heart stopped and she screamed when she saw a framed photo of her and Victoria fall over and crash to the floor. It made a sound way too harsh to her ears and one she would ever be able to get out of her head forever.

"No. No!" she protested, tears misting her vision. "Take it back! I don't care. I demand you guys take this back immediately!"

Abby heard the distant flapping of wings and ran to the window.

Her blood ran cold when her eyes remained fixed on a large gathering of ravens, flying and twisting themselves to resemble a giant, churning cyclone prepared for imminent disaster.

 _Oh God. What had she done?_

—

"Hi. This is Victoria Newman. I'm sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I'll return your call as soon as possible."

He let the call cut out. Reed's eyes focused on the road from the cabin and cursed at the beep he had heard previous times before. His gut clenched and the gash on his arm went from dull aching to sharp throbbing. Smooth road was under his wheels now heading toward Genoa City. He could feel Mattie's gaze as acute as he could feel himself bleeding again. If he could come out dislocating his arm multiple times than seen as normal, this was nothing. He just had to get to Genoa City and shift his focus on the road ahead of him.

Cars were few and far between while most households were asleep. His eyes scanned ahead for any kind of familiarity. He was sure it was there, but the shadows of night bent everything and manipulated them into something otherwise harmless in the light.

"What?" Reed asked evenly through the pain that spread out, cool and freezing – almost biting – underneath his skin. The steering wheel in his grasp was tight, sweaty and steady. He glanced quickly at the strip of light blue material for a split second. The wound had felt as though Kendall's sharp nail had scratched him, but no, new hands were rougher but didn't feel familiar. They weren't and he knew more than anything, who they had belonged to. At another red light, Reed glanced at his girlfriend who turned away, and stared ahead, her rage and annoyance evident. "I'm fine. I just killed a bunch of kids I see every day. It's all…good."

"No, it's not," she replied. " _We_ were put in that situation because your ex doesn't understand the concept of a break up. You're bleeding again. Pull over!" she then yelled loud enough to break his side mirror. The little mirror cracked and the metal support bent like a pipe cleaner. "I'm asking you to pull over or the paint finish comes off, then the fender, the bumper, then the paint…"

He hit the gas and pushed the car forward with nothing at this point but adrenaline and a kind of fear he'd learned to push down. But when it came to his mom, it managed to bubble up and bled over despite the coolness. Reed forced his blue-eyed vision to stay ahead, despite his peripheral vision starting to darken. A pain bloomed in his head and pounded until it grew to be as intense as his heartbeat.

"She…needs to stop… She has to stop…" Reed says finally, as he tilted to the wheel so that the car cruised and then stopped. Reed and Mattie switched places and shifted so it was now her at the driver's seat. He rested his head against the head rest, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Pulling air into his lungs to breathe, he needed to hone in on wherever the extra blood coming from. He felt Mattie's gentle but quick hands unravel the light blue strip of material away from his skin. He winced when Mattie slowly pulled the dried red and quickly pressed another one of those blue strips firmly to stem the new bleeding.

Reed winced when cold hit his arm wound and something stretched and twisted itself.

He looked over at the side to see his girlfriend at work, examining the scratch while he was simply trying not to puke. Mattie met his face, her face serious for a moment and then while trying to stem his pain and blood loss.

"Kendall really tore at you there, Reed."

"She was always that kinda girl," he admitted with a tad of dark humor, his eyes heavy. "But she'll stop it because we killed her, 'member? We kicked out there and you were so powerful and beautiful… She's not doing it though. She's not the problem. The risk. She never was the problem until she…had to…be. Mom's gonna…"

"Her. Who is…this her?"

 _She who giveth life will take it away._

" _Her_ ," Reed said finally, quiet like a whisper and he said nothing after that.

 _You have fought well. Rest, child._

—

Mattie felt her cheeks heat up in a blush and heard panic screaming in his head but if she didn't work fast, Reed was going to into shock and he would die. In normal situations, Mattie could have had the paramedics here but they would not have believed their story. They were trained to do whatever they could within natural possibilities but she knew it wasn't. There was no way they would have believed a quiet night with her boyfriend turned into this. The witchcraft and magic rested comfortable in her DNA, and the old, worn grimoires of every Barber witch past found a home on her bookshelf, but even she didn't believe herself sometimes. She had witnessed a turning once with her Aunt Liv but that was because the young woman was a sexual assault and had no idea who had taken her and mortality. The girl was emotional, angry, cried that she was starving and wanted to go home while disoriented.

It wasn't that situation because Reed was breathing. Mattie was pretty the poultice she had applied to his previous cuts would have sanitized any lingering germs, or poisons. She glanced down at her own palms and with the full confidence that her own hands were sanitized, she let her magic become tempered and precise. The blood on a new light blue strip of material didn't look crimson and it didn't hold the same consistency. Mattie glances around, suddenly that she has alone in her boyfriend's car on the side of a dark road. Her mind spun with every protection spell she studied at her disposal, but Mattie was more focused on the moderately sized horizontal gash on his arm. It was surrounded by dried caked blood and newer blood, thick and the dark colour of squid's ink.

She felt a drop land on the tip of her middle finger and it made a chill run up her back. There was something underneath the gash because it seemed to be puffed up and red. Mattie deduced something that Reed wasn't far off. Twisting, bending, situating itself as to find a place inside of him to be comfortable. It was as if this wasn't a foreign object in the least. Mattie felt like Billy Abbott's abduction had triggered many events that were occurring one after the other. She looked up at Reed again, a furrow in his brow and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"I'm so sorry," Mattie said sincerely, affectionately touching his hair. "I just have to get this blood to stop. There's…something inside of you."

Mattie squinted as she made her hands warm and soothing against Reed's skin. A magical kind of morphine that stopped pain and would gently guide Reed toward being whole again and making sense. As dark wisps of smoke emanated from the middle of the wound, something small and stem-like brushed her finger. It was like when Mattie had caught a splinter and she would run to her dad so he could take it out. Thinking of him made Mattie sad and Charlie run away. Reed had helped her a lot with the grief and come to terms with what death did, what it meant and what it could have been the stepping stool to.

The stem was small, the size of a toothpick approximately.

Mattie took a deep breath and pulled. She pulled until she got the object out and slowly, the bleeding stemmed off. She wrapped the blue strip of fabric around Reed's wound again and found herself with a dark feather in her lap. She heard a soft, "Thanks," and bleary blue eyes staring back at her.

"You're welcome," Mattie replied, softly and apologized and Reed cringed in pain. As Reed shifted his weight, she studied the black yet bloodied feather in her hands. She wasn't afraid of blood. She would wish all of that off when she got home, but right now, Mattie's spun with the questions surrounding this raven's feather. Her mind also unravelled with the excitement of finding the answers attached to them.

Mattie looked at the medium-sized feather in his palm, then at Reed's face for any answers he may have for her. She could have searched between the pages of old grimoires, scanned the family trees of witches and warlocks before her. Mattie could have but wanted her boyfriend to tell her. She wanted Reed's expressive eyes to tell her the origin of the feather that had been resting safe inside of him. Reed's eyes already started speaking when he looked from the feather to her and then looked away.

Mattie watched him exhale a breath.

"You know what a raven means," he said, quietly. "You know everything."

Mattie frowned when she locked eyes with him.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Of course, I trust you!" Reed snapped at her, before apologizing. He sighed, glancing upwards past the roof of his car. He ran a hand through his dark hair, and Mattie watched him wrestle with being apologize and annoyed at the same. "That's really cool for you. Sorry. I'm being an asshole right now. You want to help You care. You care about me when I'm clearly messed up," he said at last, morosely. "Sometimes, I hate being Victoria Newman's kid. Like right now."

"Why?"

"You have time? It's a lot."

Mattie looked at her boyfriend, curiously and then nodded. "Yes."

"Okay. I'll tell you everything. Drive."

So, she did. Mattie turned the ignition, let the car roar to life and drove on the dark road to nowhere.

"Her name is Anna Maria…" Reed began. "We're all descended from her. Sort of."

"Okay," Mattie cut him off, making a sharp turn when the light turned green again. "I changed my mind. I don't want to hear it. Not until we get to my grandmother's house. She'll know what to do."

"Will she know what to do about my arm suddenly healing?"

Mattie furrowed her brow, concentrated on driving.

"Of course. Why?"

"Because it just did. Mattie, I know I heal faster than others but this feels...weird," Reed told her as her peripheral caught his arm looking as he said it did: the skin smooth with no blood, unbroken and as if tonight never happen. She could pick up Reed's panic beneath his cool exterior because she did as her hands became slightly sweaty under the leathery surface of his steering wheel.

"Something's wrong."

At another red light, Mattie glanced up at the sky to see a flock of ravens.

—

Billy didn't know anything because his already spinning brain spun so fast with what he carried with him in the past. He didn't know and he sure didn't why, but his hands shook as he stuck the spare key in the lock and turned it. The wind intertwined itself into the trees he used to climb only to fall out of as a kid, and Billy couldn't help but let a nostalgic smile tug at his lips. He saw him laughing at Jack when he couldn't fish and Dad proudly encouraging them as the three of them fought to reel in one of the largest fish Billy had ever seen. He heard splashing with shrieks of surprise and laughter as they spent sunny days swimming in the lake and tranquil nights watching fireflies dance. Billy remembered the light brown gash on his knee from falling and skinning his knee on some sharp rocks. He could find something – anything – humorous in it, like getting a bionic leg, because the blood freaked him out. There was so much of it and he remembered leaning on Jack as he was helped down the trail. Fine. He knew it. It was stupid for him to try and catch that white rabbit.

To be fair, Billy did want a pet and believed in the Finders Keepers principle. It was just too bad that white bunny didn't believe that and had to run away. _Wendell,_ Billy remembered fondly even now only because Jack laughed. A painful lump formed in his throat when he remembered his younger self apologized for bleeding all over his brother and messing the whole family trip up. _I'm pretty sure Wendell knows you love him and you didn't mess anything up. You're my little brother. If you can't bleed on me, who can you bleed on?_

A painful lump formed in his throat and it hurt even more to push it down. Before he was aware of it, tears misted his vision and he cursed under his breath. He wiped at his eyes and was startled by Eve's quiet voice. The stretch of quiet between them was the longest between them and Billy, for once, didn't have anything to end it. It was a weird game between them but it gave Billy a strange peek into what it felt like to be her. On the flip side of things, he was frustrated with her when he knew he wasn't really mad at Eve. How did his Restless Style assistant go from being someone relatively shy and normal – well, relative to Restless Style – to a centuries old vampire who happened to rescue him and was linked to something bigger than him and part of him, it seemed.

"What?"

"I said, I'm sorry," Eve spoke again, lifting her head from her knees as she perched there on the couch before glancing away from him. Billy strode over from the kitchenette, two tumblers of whiskey in one hand. It was a habit from his bar tending days he couldn't quite get rid of. In any case, he needed a drink and so did she. Eve looked smaller than she usually did and her skin pale enough for him to feel a small twinge of concern.

"It's not from the vein or from the Genoa City blood bank, but…"

"You don't have to do what."

"Give you a drink after saving my life?"

She shook her head. "Get quiet on me. That's not how our dynamic works. I'm usually the voluntary mute, remember?"

"You're an adorable voluntary mute."

"Shut up."

"Ah, she smiles."

Eve thanked him and in continuing to be surprised by her, watched her take the glass from him and drain the glass in one gulp before setting it on the table. She exhaled and pinned him with a glance that said she had questions and knew the answers at the same time.

"You have questions," she stated, matter of fact. Billy glanced back at her. Of course, she knew. Eve knew more than just things an assistant and a friend should know. She wordlessly reached into his pocket and held this mysterious amulet of silver, onyx, and light purple gemstones in front of him.

"Yeah, so what's that?"

He gestured to that weird amulet.

Billy watched Eve close her eyes and pause for a brief moment before she opened them and the colour of a steady orange ember in them. She smiled at him, staring him straight in the face.

"Before I answer all of your questions, I ask of two things – no, wait," Eve started to say and paused. Billy couldn't help but try not to laugh and she counted quickly before talking again. She held up for four fingers. "…four things."

"Don't ask me about any unsolved murders."

"Oh, come on!" Billy protested. "Not even Tupac and Biggie?"

" _Especially_ not Tupac and Biggie."

Eve continued, shoving him in the shoulder, "Don't ask me about how old I really am."

Billy nodded, watching the amulet as Eve threw it up and caught it out of air before he could. She shot another triumphant look at Billy. She was old enough to kill him, and old enough to heal whatever was hurting him. For that he was grateful for the latter, wary of the former. Vampires weren't scary and they weren't these monsters. They just had a bad rep from people who didn't believe they existed or all or ignorance from those who did believe in the supernatural but chose to be assholes. Vampires were the most human beings to him and their struggle harder than someone like him. Billy had to wake up everything and wrestle with how many stupid impulsive things he would do in one day. Or, if he would even do them at all.

"Is it hard?"

Eve looked at him confused and blinked. "A lot of things are difficult. What are you asking me?" she played a skinny ring on her finger and it made Billy remember the ring he had ready for Phyllis. All he had to do was ask and all she had to do was say yes.

"Just…existing. Living…" he trailed off. For once, he didn't want to come off as an insensitive ass. Of course, there was that reason but

"—as a vampire," Eve finished and she grew pensive. "I… Yes, it's hard. It's hard teetering between living your life and the primal instinct to take another person's. Billy, the way you feel things is different. Every supernatural being – but yes, we're people and we exist – has a switch. Different ones but we all have them."

"A switch?"

"Yeah," Eve replied, softly and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Billy couldn't help but notice something like pain in her eyes. He never really had before but a small twinge of anger stabbed him where Patrick Abbott's ghostly foot had pounded his rib. He couldn't have known. It was a huge leap from seeing her as his assistant and friend. She was still all those things but how could he process this? "We feel way too deeply. When it gets too much, we check out. Shut down everything and go off of our base instincts."

Base instincts. He was familiar with shutting down and making one bad decision after the other. He was acquainted with separating himself from pain and causing it, so no one had a reason to get close to him. But Billy always knew sometimes it was healthy to be honest and discover whatever truth was out there. To get the heart of a story, Billy learned the subject had to be stripped bare. It wasn't in that fun way. He only had the desire to see one woman naked and at her most wild. For everyone else, Billy realized something as he gazed at the whiskey in his glass, amber coloured when the cabin lights hit it from various angles.

"Your third condition before we go on the record is?" he asked seriously now, taking another mouthful of his drink. Billy winced reflexively, not because the alcohol set his insides ablaze but because he found himself staring up at a rainy sky, different shades of green swirling in his vision and the sharp sensation of Patrick's frenzied hits on his body.

"On the record? For whom?"

"For myself."

"Okay," Eve said, as serious as he was. "My third condition? Don't ask what my base instincts are."

"You know mine," Billy volleyed back, smoothly.

Eve laughed and smirked, "Everyone knows yours."

"Pre-question, Evie. Are you going to feel the need to feed off me?"

"You've seen me in my natural state, and I'm looking at you through my natural eye colour and scope of vision and you haven't run away from me but it's a fair question," Eve explained in a diplomatic way, full of grace. Billy was learning something with time that passed. He was seeing things through a kaleidoscope as the colours blended in and out and the shapes were not stable from one turn to the next. "I can hear your heartbeat as you heal right now and don't want to tear your jugular to ribbons. _Now,_ anyways. Relax and trust that I won't."

"Fair enough. What's condition number four?"

"Just that you ask smart questions and listen," Eve leaned into the couch and shifted around to make herself comfortable, took his drink before she drained the rest. "Ask away, _William_."

"Alright," he clapped his hands, resolutely. "Where did that amulet come from?"

"Come from?" she repeated and chuckled. "Billy, it never left you. You never let go of it. You landed in the Garden – that's the name of the place you woke up in."

The…Garden? What?

"How did I end up in The Garden?" Billy questioned, unable to be objective or be emotionally detached. He wanted to know who took him away from his family, his friends, his children and Phyllis. Someone took him away from building living room forts with Johnny, Daddy-daughter dancing with Katie, and silly string fights with Phyllis on nights where he thought he could surprise her tonight. He never did but he loved watching her become engulfed in plastic stringy colour of pinks, blue, light greens and purples. She yelled at him between laughs and playful protests, launched a pillow at him, and called him an asshole for messing up her hair. Billy remembered telling him she was a cute, angry rainbow and then pulled her in for a proper kiss hello. _You know I could hurt you for that_ , Phyllis whispered against his mouth. He merely smiled back, pull a green stringy piece of silly string out of her hair and said _I know._

"Evie?" he slowly asked again, edges in his tone that seemed to make her face light up with amused that confused him. "How did I end up at this…garden?"

"Nobody kidnapped you," she disclosed, like a thunderclap.

"I'm pretty sure I know what kidnapping means."

The vampire across from him, nodded. "Yes, and we also have known for centuries the earth is round. You weren't kidnapped, Billy. I swear."

Billy stood up and paced.

"You took yourself there. But if you want to get technical on the kidnapping issue," she added, and sighed, confessing. " _Patrick_ took you there."

—

Outside in between a deep throaty croak of a frog, one lone raven landed smoothly on the roof of the Abbott cabin. It cried out once, then twice, and three times in the night before it raised itself up and let the wind guide it to where the others were. One solitary feather broke off and floated downward until it landed in the bubbling stream and was carried away.


	7. 6: The Past

**The Ghost of You  
** **Summary:** "If I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it - keep going, keep going come what may." –Vincent Van Gogh. / Or, in which they keep searching for him and don't stop. BillyPhyllis, TravisVictoria. For Danica. [AU]  
 **notes:** Hi. This is a foundational chapter that makes sense to understand things in the present, moving forward. But this is more historical than anything. Hope you understand in order for everything to move forward. I tried to edit, but I'm pretty sure there are typos. I'll do a pretty edit when I get some sleep. There's a lot here with a lot of clues that will push things forward, so please pay attention.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: The Past**

Dr. Casey Reed brought a cup of herbal tea to her lips and she smiled. She was never the type of woman to do this spontaneously. She was the kind of woman to plan for things. She worked hard to get away from her father and protect a younger sister after a car accident took their mother. Casey remembered her mother, Eleanor, as an angel and Nick Reed as the boogeyman in real life. He could have been the closest thing to a demon or a monster but she knew who or what Nick Reed because years later, it photocopied itself. It reproduced itself like the genes of a human being. They replicated, multiplied and could stay dominant or recessive, but they were there. Thankfully, he was long dead. Casey was free and so was Nikki, as wild as she was. But she frowned, staring off into the distance because parts of him never really did die. Maybe that made her a walking contradiction. Maybe she was a paradox in motion. Casey knew a lot of things, especially medicine but wouldn't presume to know how the world worked not because she was oblivious. It was more because she was too aware and sometimes, needed to be ignorant.

She was okay with not being a mother, never bringing life into the world. But when she had her son and she heard him kicking and screaming his way into it, Casey remembered looking down at him. She remembered smiling down at this baby boy and wondering how she could have been so foolish to deny herself this kind of magic. She knew every kind of magic, knew right away what cured what ailment. Dr. Casey knew things beyond human physiology – someone of them she was grateful for, and others she wished it could reside in just her short-term memory and never cross the long term. Casey strolled around her son's apartment with mug of tea in her hands before Dominic walked in around from the kitchen, holding a bottle of beer for himself.

Dominic walked to her and clinked his beer against her tea.

"Thank you for coming, Mom. I thought it would have been okay to meet me at the hospital, but I didn't feel like it was the right place to talk about something this delicate."

Casey smiled, brightly, and touched his face lightly with affection. She noticed the stubble on his face. She wished he would shave more because her boy had such a handsome face but knew as a doctor himself, he was busy and a doctor's life left someone floating through life almost. Casey spent years floating. Her career was everything. The one thing her past could not touch that threatened to saturate every part of it. It was a heartbeat or a breath of life: essential, important and persistent.

"Delicate?" the doctor queried with an amused smile and raised brow. "That's new."

Dominic drank his beer and nodded, swallowing. "Yeah."

Casey sighed, sank down on the couch and patted a spot next to her. "Can I ask you something first, sweetheart?"

"Maybe."

She touched her son's prickly cheek and laughed. Dominic had her mother's eyes. Her boy was an easy baby, an even easygoing human being who had never had an angry day in his life. Casey's biggest regret was looking at her son and seeing some facial structures she couldn't quite identify because half his genetic profile was wrapped up in a man she couldn't identify in any meaningful way. She didn't know him. Never met him and secretly wished she had gotten pregnant from a secret rendezvous or from one encounter with a lover she would never meet again because she wasn't the marrying type. She wasn't like Nikki but it was okay, but her sister was just as happy.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course."

"Mom, I worry about you sometimes. That's all."

"It's not your job. Although, you're very sweet that way."

He shrugged and spoke matter-of-fact. "Of course, it is. I mean, I never knew my father and I'm okay with that. It was a decision you made. I like to think we did okay, and although, I never had the sibling experience," he continued, smiling lightly, "I got to feel something like an older sibling to Nick and Victoria growing up, even when we moved away for a bit."

Casey looked at her son with an inquisitive gaze. She saw Dominic as a little boy, an awkward yet bookish teenager and then as a man who had followed her into medicine. When Casey watched him graduate medical school with a specialty in pediatrics, Nikki often joked that now she had the bragging rights to say her nephew was a doctor. Because Dominic didn't have a father, Victor stepped in and became a father figure to her son. She could never thank her brother-in-law for that although she was relieved he never did have corporate talent or drive. Dominic had the heart of a healer and the mind of a protector. Not the temperament of a conqueror even though he did have a brilliance grounded in strategy.

Dominic frowned, crease between his eyebrows. His eyes burned with a rare fire that took Casey aback. She blinked and set her mug on the table.

"Something's wrong. That's why you called me here. Why?"

"The door's open, Mom," he confessed, not as her son but as one doctor to another, deciding whether a diagnosis was grave or harmless. He looked at her and said that phrase as if there was an unseen cancer growing malignant but hopeful that it was benign. He rubbed his face and exhaled. "The damn door is open. The door to…The Garden."

Casey narrowed her eyes, feeling sick. "How? That…place has been sealed forever."

He shook his head no.

"It's not anymore, Mom. I failed. It's a lot but—"

"Tell me everything."

"Well, Billy was kidnapped tonight, but he wasn't," Dominic explained with that tone again. She shared a look with her son. The kind only two doctors could. _Malignant,_ Dom said with his eyes and Casey's stomach churned. Billy's ordeal was bad enough. She liked him a lot, and even though they weren't married anymore, it must have her niece and nephew sick. "I know that because I got in. Marco Annacelli got to him and really injured him. When I was treating him, something was triggered inside of him. I'm supposed to protect people from being hurt so please, tell me everything you know about her."

"Who?"

"Lilith, Mom," Dominic said finally, and Casey fought the visceral tendency to shudder at that name. "She's finally out and her freedom means someone else's captivity."

"Billy's still in trouble then."

"Yes," Dominic nodded, answering quietly. "I'm not clear on things and it's frustrating. I'm not clear on things, but I'm scared. I don't get scared. You know that."

"I do. You're scared _for_ him?"

"Like the general consensus, yes. I…am."

She envied Dominic for not knowing what true fear felt like. Maybe he inherited that from his father. She didn't know him, but Casey always sensed that he was a calm man, always in a state of peace even in chaos.

—

Casey folded her hands in her lap, and fiddled with silver ring that had once belonged to their mother. She took a cleansing breath that wasn't effective and stood. Folding her arms around herself, she drifted around her son's apartment. But she wasn't there. Although, it didn't feel like that. Casey was in a hospital and the halls were empty but there was sound. The sharp cry of a newborn baby bounced off the stark white walls. As a mother, she was panicked. As a doctor with the Hippocratic Oath and its ancient Greek prose in her head, Casey went through what could have a baby cry so loudly. Was it neonatal distress? Was the mother an addict, making the child born an addict too? Casey let out a shuddering breath as she took hurried steps to an empty nursery.

She walked into a nursery, following the soft humming of a woman. It was a lullaby made up of words that sounded archaic that meant something. The musical notes seemed to float among the ghosts. Those who lived, died, and sometimes, stayed in purgatory. In a medical kind of purgatory, it seemed as if the patient was granted relief yet stuck at the same time. Casey stopped short at the doorway and stared as a dark haired woman, rocking a screaming baby bundled in blue. A boy. Soft wisps of dark hair on his head, and little fists that seemed to punch through the world he found himself apart of. She wore turquoise coloured scrubs. Her lips were in a soft, dreamy smile. The woman rocked him gently as he cries quieted to coos but she saw the soft blue colour of his blanket turn crimson red. Blood.

"Give him to me."

"He's loud, but he's beautiful, no?"

Casey ordered firmly again, "Give me the child. He's in distress. I have to help him."

The woman chuckled, then laughed. She stared up at Casey with pure black eyes while stroking the baby's head with a clawed hand.

"No, Dr. Reed. Stop mentally threatening to kill me. It defeats your do no harm purpose."

"I think I can make an exception."

"Doctor's orders don't work here, unfortunately… well, for you."

Casey sighed and crossed her arms.

"What will work, Lilith?"

"Why? So, _you_ can stop it?"

"I'm locked away and yet I had to see him, had to hold him. Poor thing," she clicked her tongue with false sympathy. Casey watched the woman shift her gaze back to the child's face. "Who knew someone with such beauty could tear his own mother to pieces on the way here? He'll destroy…everything," she cooed to the now, sleeping peaceful infant. "Isn't that right, Billy?"

The baby started to cry again and Lilith stood and slipped him into Casey's arms.

"Give Nikki and Victor my regards. Victoria's such a pretty little girl."

She did a mock salute and disappeared. Heart hammering in her chest, the pieces started to come together. This was Billy, as in the man who would be a little rambunctious little boy, then grow to be an even more mischievous man with good intentions. But here he was an innocent infant, not where of where he had landed and born into. Several people on this day – millions of people – shared this day, shared this moment when they were silent, alone and then became something part of beyond just them. Casey whipped around and the sudden movement behind her and Billy started to wail again.

"I'm sorry," Casey found herself apologizing while soothing him with a bounce on her heels. "I'm really sorry, Billy. Shhh. You're okay."

Casey adjusted the blue cap slightly askew on his head and came face to face with a younger version of John Abbott. She was acquainted with him, knew of the Abbotts and that his first wife, Dina, had left three other children for him to raise alone. He settled down and stared at her with large brown eyes. Medically, she knew Billy's eyes didn't have any distance and couldn't see anything far away. She also knew babies cried upon birth to take their first breath, set up from month long constraints they had no control over. She couldn't help but muse at the fact that maybe Billy's eyes protected him from things he couldn't handle seeing.

Maybe babies cried because they had an innate knowledge that they were living in a world they would have rather have them dead. For all her acquired knowledge, Casey didn't understand this. Casey could have sworn he was questioning her or even confused, but she didn't have the answers. Whatever answers she did have were questions she never wanted to face until now.

John Abbott was a good kind man in a world that seemed to make people hardened. He was open with his emotions and exuded a warmth that was contagious but soothing to most caustic of wounds. But here he was, looking into the teary eyes of this man and Casey knew there were fresh wounds being cut into his skin. He stared at her face and then down at his newborn son with a tentative smile on his face, directed at his son.

"Casey, thank goodness," John said with teary eyes. "The… the doctors told me about Jill. I didn't love her. That woman… she was a mess, but she did love him. I was going to make sure she was okay… She – oh God, my boy has no mother."

She swallowed, plastering a smile on her face. "I'm sorry for your loss, John."

John grinned, eyes twinkling as he glanced down at his son. He looked at her, questioningly.

"May I?"

"Of course," Casey replied, carefully transferring the bundled weight of blue from her arms into John's. Billy seemed to settle into the crook of his father's arms. John's gently rocked him, and pressed a delicate kiss to his head. She felt as though she was intruding, disrupting a moment she wasn't in originally. While Billy was meeting his father for the first time, Casey was learning another way to be a single mother and a working physician at the same time. She cleared her throat. "John, he's healthy and he's strong. A little loud but he's all good, nonetheless. I'll leave you to get acquainted."

"Thank you. But I'd like to you ask you a question?"

John crossed over, soothing his son and eased himself into the empty chair occupied by…her. She wasn't going to disrupt this moment in history when Casey had shifted some many little things already. But here was this new father of a baby boy she would know for years, and be intertwined with a little bright blue-eyed girl just a little over a year old.

She wanted to leave, but there was something about John Abbott that made it impossible for her to refuse, even with the politeness and decorum of a physician.

"A question? Of course."

"I'm having trouble thinking of a name. What do you think…of William?"

Casey's eyes drifted to the sleeping baby, who awoke from his slumber to merely sneeze. John rocked his son and hummed a gentle lullaby. He told Billy of an older brother, and two little sisters that would love him senseless. The doctor watched the Jabot Cosmetics CEO become like any other new father, even though this was for the fourth time. An ache hit her heart, remembering her little boy sitting surrounded by Lego pieces that were a pain to clean up but she didn't mind. She remembered a particular instance when Casey had emergency surgery so she quickly dropped Dominic off at the Newman Ranch. Victoria had been irritable and cranky due to an ear infection. When she had returned in the morning to get him, she found her niece asleep in Dominic's lap while he looked down at her and rubbed her back in comfort. Tears welled up in her eyes and John spoke to her, snapping her out of it.

"I'm sorry…what?"

John tossed her a knowing look, "Missing your boy?"

She plastered a smile on her face, feeling the environment slowly starting to unravel and bending itself forward into 2017.

"Yes. It would seem to," she replied, and stepped forward to take in Billy's features as they stayed frozen in sleep. Casey couldn't help but notice the slight furrow in his brow. It made her curious of what dreams and nightmares imprinted themselves on his new, but building subconscious. She looked up to meet John's eyes and answer his question. "William is a fine name, John."

"Thank you. His mother wanted that. After her father. William Foster. Billy, for short. Jill isn't here, but she named him. It's the least I can do to honour her."

"Billy. It's a lovely name," she said to her friend, alive here, dearly departed in her reality. "I have to go see another patient," she lied. "They need me, but I'll send a nurse over."

"Thank you," John said finally, with a charming smile and twinkle in his eyes. "For everything."

—

Casey exhaled a breath and stepped out of the hospital. She slowly found her vision swimming back into clarity. Ripples of understanding became silver threads of truth. Dominic stared at her not surprised when she recognized his face, down to the seriousness in it. He wasn't surprised that she had drifted again, but simply to question if she had finally understood.

"Billy's been marked," Casey disclosed, rubbing her head.

"Elaborate, Mom."

Casey watched the gears in his head, slowly turning. She pictured the wheels as regular tires that cracked shimmering, golden roads that could have travelled anywhere. It was extraordinary and impossible. But that was her son. Dominic was extraordinary but he did do impossible things.

"Okay. Billy's mother died at birth. For that little window of time, Billy was born, the door to the abyss just beneath The Garden opened. She was waiting for him. She essentially told me that his life would essentially be one misfortune after another," Casey explained, gravely. "He wouldn't have any happiness and if he tried to find any, he'd lose it."

"And therefore," Dominic theorized, out loud like he did when comfortably stuck in his head, "Billy is the literal key. Marco was a tool to use to cause Billy enough pain to open the door, so to speak. That's why he isn't dead. At least, not now. He's way too valuable."

Casey sighed, "But she will kill him. Your fears aren't unfounded."

He scratched his forehead.

"How will Billy die? That's what I need to know, and I know Phyllis is a factor."

"I…don't know sweetheart."

Dominic sighed, cursed and in a rare display of anger, he hit his fist against the coffee table so forcefully, the mug and glass beer bottle rattled. He planted his hands on his hips and paced, agitated like he was always did. Casey remembered her son getting this way when he first started practicing medicine and understood the gravity of informing a family that their loved one had died, despite doing everything medically right.

"There are too many variables here, Mom, and that's what frustrates me."

Casey had more to say, more to expand on, and the experience still vivid – the sights, sounds smells still assaulted her faint as it was – but she simply stood and hugged her son. _Give Nikki and Victor my regards. Victoria's such a pretty little girl_. For once in her selfless life, Casey was going to be selfish and just protect her child. Nikki was fierce enough to protect her daughter and Victor was dangerous enough to kill anyone foolish enough to stop him from that.

"I know," Casey comforted him, touching his face. "We'll figure out the variables."

Dominic pulled away and looked at her unsure and bashful.

"Even if," he paused, "I've fallen in love with one of those variables?"

Casey looked at her son, surprised. Not because she thought Dominic wasn't a catch. She was, of course, biased, but Dominic was a catch and anyone would have been lucky to be with him. Her reaction came from the fact that Dominic never gave off the idea of getting involved with someone. She raised her son to be a free-thinking individual, and a person who was capable of being his own guide as long as he was comfortable and happy in whatever he decided. Still, Casey had no idea Dominic was in a serious relationship, assuming that it was just that.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Is it serious?"

"It's not serious enough to consider marriage," Dominic explained, glancing down. The tips of his ears flamed red and Casey knew her son cared deeply about this person. He raised his gaze, smiled boyishly at her. "But it's serious enough for me to care deeply for her. I know I don't want to be without her. It's been a while, Mom. So, yes. It's serious."

Casey returned Dominic's smile with a bright one of her own. More variables had been added for her to work through from her standpoint as his mother, but all she could do is be encouraging. If she had been his entire life, why would she have stopped now?

"If you're happy and sure, then that's fine."

"Then," Dominic began, clearing his throat, "in the interest of full disclosure, you should know that her name is Eve. I just found out myself but…she's Lilith's sister."

Casey reminded herself that Dominic's happiness was more important and the most paramount. It mattered more than the intensity of raw material instinct, quickly rousing itself from a long slumber. It screamed, loud and guttural, against the steel constraints of her sanity.

"Okay."

Dominic paused and stared at her before touching her arm.

"Too bad you can't lie the way you perform trauma surgeries."

He softened and kissed her temple.

"I can't pretend I'm okay with…this either."

"Just trust that I'll be fine. Like you said, the variables will figure themselves out. So, let's get to it."

Casey offered a wry smile, heart constricting in her chest and the temperature of her blood dropping slightly. She still heard the sharp alarms and the roaring of her protectiveness in her ears. It was twisting and thickening like smoke in the mental space between. Casey closed her eyes and inhaled to disperse it and force her breath to become like soothing, steady rain. Still, Dominic's happiness was above all and yes, she would work through the new set of variables Eve presented. That was all that mattered, she had to remind herself. Everything else could wait.

—

Phyllis thought she was prepared for the unexpected, bouncing from one situation to the next. She could never really be prepared for watching Johnny and Katie, Billy's children but somehow, she did it. It made her feel strangely human and as normal as possible. She could watch Johnny stubbornly read a book because he wanted to read her a story and see Billy's determination when he read until he finished and tired. Phyllis attuned her hearing to make sure Katie slept peacefully after a late-night tea party, Johnny yawned and she made sure to cover him with his duvet of light and dark blue. His room was a little boy's den, decorated with themes of rocket ships, trains and cartoon dinosaurs. Phyllis' eyes drifted over to a framed picture of Billy and Johnny, looking at each other with matching smiles. She missed that smile. She missed Billy's heartbeat, his cologne, his touch, that laugh so contagious it made her laugh too.

The little boy yawned and his blue eyes grew heavy with increasing sleep. She touched his head and nearly hesitated when she was about to press a kiss to his temple. Johnny smelled like bubble bath with an earthy undertone of freshly mowed grass. Phyllis listened to him tell her how he climbed a tree all by himself one time at Grandpa's house but fell and broke his arm. He told her how he scored a goal in soccer all by himself and turned his oatmeal into chip chocolate pancakes because oatmeal looked like barf. These stories were so simple, so much lighter than the stories she carried with her and the scars on her heart, and mind. It was refreshing and for that reason she laughed with tears in her eyes.

Johnny stopped talking and looked at her seriously. His eyes were blue and piercing like his mother's and he looked like Victoria when he made that observant face. The kid had moxie, and intuition, Phyllis knew but she found herself feeling vulnerable because Johnny could study and see her.

"Are you sad?"

Phyllis offered the little boy a reassuring smile. "No, I'm not sad."

"Daddy says it's okay to be sad if you are," the boy replied, and then narrowed his eyes, "and Mommy says it's bad to lie. You're sad because you're crying. You're going to leave and find Daddy when Mommy is done with her magic."

Phyllis swore, touched and irritated at how perceptive Johnny was for his age.

"Shit…"

Johnny gasped, eyes wide. "You said a bad word!"

"Shhh!" Phyllis shushed, finger to her lips. "It's not a bad word. It's a…really grown-up word you can't say until you can drive. Remember when you said you wanted to be a…dinosaur when you grow up?"

"Yes! Dinosaurs are cool! I wanna be a T-Rex!"

"Everyone knows the T-Rex is the best one!" Phyllis agreed with a smile, and held out her fist for him to bump. He grinned at her and tapped his fist against hers. "So, you can say special words like that when you're a...driving dinosaur. You understand, Johnny?"

Johnny yawned again, and nodded that he did. She was about to tell Johnny to get comfortable and adjust his covers when Johnny pulled himself up and hugged her so fiercely, it stunned her. His little arms went around her neck. But when she realized what was happening, Phyllis hugged him back, a smile barely there. Johnny pulled away and Phyllis stared at him. She swore she felt Billy in that embrace and wondered.

There was a dull ache in her abdomen, a reminder of what could have been, should have been before there was just the reality of what was. In her dreams, there was a flutter, the little pressure of little hands and feet and the sound of a quick heartbeat. All of this noise of life when all there was for Phyllis was a crippling silence within.

"Hey," Phyllis questioned, gently and touched his head. "What was that for, hmm?"

"Because I like you," Johnny answered like someone had asked what his favourite colour. He looked at her and smiled back. "You're not scary and you love Daddy. You make Daddy happy. Are you gonna come back, Phyllis?" he asked, quieter, voice starting to drift.

"Why? You getting sick of me?"

"Uh-uh," Johnny said, shaking his head against his pillow. He closed his eyes. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Johnny."

She waited for the sound of Johnny's even breathing. She heard his heartbeat, saw he steady rise and fall of his chest as she touched his blonde head. Johnny looked peaceful in sleep, tranquil and it reminded her of his father. Billy was this force that never slowed down and it was exhilarating, and thrilling but when he did slow down, he did it in such sweet ways. Johnny's mouth quirked up into a small smile even in sleep.

"That was from your dad," she whispered in the space of his room and then did it again, a little longer because she was selfish and loved this little boy and his sister more than she should have to. Phyllis admitted it. She loved Johnny and Katie. At first, she thought it was because of her loss, but as she continued sneaking into their rooms, something changed. Phyllis found it easier to get in, didn't use as much strength to pry the window open. One rainy night, Phyllis' sharp eye realized Johnny and Katie left their window unlocked. For her. They wanted her around. These two kids were innocent when Phyllis would be the first to admit she was not. She didn't care, but she could not fathom how Johnny and Katie loved her and wanted her with them. Katie's eyes would light up when she came back and Johnny would appear almost out of thin air when he sensed her. His hugs were her favourite to receive and found herself wishing for them. Katie's laugh and sass were contagious and made Phyllis feel a kind of happiness that could have been permanent.

She quietly sniffled, tears pooling in her eyes as she watched Johnny sleep and further settle into whatever it was kids his age dreamt about. Johnny and Katie saw beyond what she was, how dangerous she could have been and past her feral nature, necessary for her survival. Johnny and Katie Abbott were pure magic beyond what they could do. They threw a little magic her way until Phyllis had to admit that these damn kids had ensnared her heart.

Phyllis kissed his head again, affectionately. "That one's from me."

—

A war general nursed his goblet of wine while rotating his dagger. The orb above was an ivory coloured fixture in the heavens. His eyes had seen things most of could not withstand. But today was the first time he could see the blood of his men on the battlefield, staining the slick grass. It was raining loud enough, it seemed, to silence the cries of his men as they died around him and the horses lay butchered. He could not forget, would not forget. Dark stormy eyes remained fixated by the motion as moonlight moved like wispy, ghostly fingers against his weapon from hilt to blade. His sword lay on the stone floor, stained with the blood of the emperor's enemies.

He brought the goblet to his lips, eyes looking into a distance he could not focus on. The sky was dark, rumbling and lightning streaked in jagged lines as if the gods themselves wanted to tear it to pieces and kill the devout. Claudius' eyes focused on the mountain range, glowing a fire red against water that was supposed to temper and extinguish it. He had fought since he was a boy, learned to be ruthless from his youth and learned to be merciless because it was the only way to greatness. He scoffed, draining the rest of the bitter wine in one gulp and set it down on the windowsill of his bedroom.

The screams of his men still filled his head space until the raw and guttural ones pressed against his skull and could have cracked the plates of bone. Metal scrapped against each other as sparks danced between them and a setting sun gleamed against the forged steel. Claudius picked up the dagger with the golden hilt before setting it down again. What was he to do? Would he, for once, take the sting of failure, or would he refuse it and rectify it? He stood, eyes still on the mountain top. Its base was wide and the orange glow seemed to have its own breath, its own glowing heart in the darkness. Soon, Claudius would hear the wails of women made widows and high-pitched screeching of children made fatherless.

His grand chamber door squeaked open and then closed shut.

Claudius recognized the sound of golden bangles and could be peaceful with the light, sweet fragrance in the air. The terror of the battle still haunted him, and plagued his mind but here came the olive-skinned angel to banish the demon nestled inside the Empress away. He smiled and extended a hand to his wife.

Lysette grinned and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He took in her scent of her perfume and the smoothness of her skin against his. She kissed him and pulled away, resting her forehead against his. Lysette held his face between her hands, her green eyes burning with resolve and fire.

"I prayed to the gods for your safe return, but I will not let you heed the word of a _witch_ and destroy yourself because of one war."

Claudius frowned and pulled away, "One war? One war?" he repeated incredulous, eyes narrowed. He dropped Lysette's hands and chuckled. "One war that was lost! My men are a feast for the vultures! I am second-in-command to the Emperor and a whole army is wiped out, Lysette! You cannot restrict me from conferring with the Empress if I please! I'm not going to destroy myself. My army is destruction enough. I do not wish for more!"

"Then what do you wish for?"

"What?"

"I have seen a seer."

Claudius laughed, gazing at his wife. "A _seer_? They're all drunkards, preying on the fear of the devout and you pay attention to ramblings that mean nothing," he waved a dismissive hand and turned away from her. "You are beginning to irritate me."

He did love her and was still the most beautiful flower in a field that was all his to roam, but when that field became all weeds, and carnage, Claudius became irked by his limits. How could he be one of the most powerful men in the emperor yet be held by constraints of long established duty? He did marry for love. His marriage to Lysette wasn't because of family, bloodline, or standing. He was simply a man in love who had fallen for a woman and killed men for her hand. Lysette remained defiant, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. How she amused him so. Even now. Especially now. Claudius took in her olive skin, honey brown hair and almond shaped eyes. He prayed the gods would be kind to somebody who was not a kind man and let him carry the sound of Lysette's laugh from one lifetime to the next. He prayed that he would still remember when it felt like to have another give him their whole heart and their body with it even long after there was no breath left.

She gasped, and said quietly as if realizing. "She's seduced you. What has she promised you?"

"You are mad and treading dangerously, m'lady."

"Do not tell me I am mad, when I am only being truthful. I am your wife! I will serve you and stand at your side. I will do anything you ask of me, fulfill every desire you seek, and give you sons and daughters to your content but do not deem me mad," Lysette said, with restrained anger. She pointed a finger at Claudius, heart skipping. "You want something I cannot give you. No, you crave it."

Claudius set his jaw and turned around to that glowing mountaintop again. It dimmed and illuminated the dark sky, his insides matching an electricity in the air only he felt. It was something she knew she generated, her charm and magic from the fiery depths. Some said she was descended from Jezebel herself and Hades' whore. There were the faintest whisperings of an illegitimate daughter, conceived with dark magic in contrast the loud jubilation that had heralded the birth of the future emperor.

"The empress…" Lysette finally said quietly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. She inhaled, shaking her head vehemently. When Claudius reached out to touch her, she flinched and pulled away. She sniffled, her eyes angry as a tear rolled down cheek. "She is your brother's wife. She is family, but," Lysette hissed, "she is no sister of mine! She is evil. The seer told me so. He told me she has twisted Aurelius and bent him to her will. Do you care to know why your men are dead when they were supposed to be victorious? Do you want to know why people will sing funeral songs and curse you in the same breath, Claudius?"

"I will cut their tongues out."

"Because she has used Aurelius' goodness as a weapon. His benevolence is her toy," Lysette answered, almost pleadingly ignoring her husband's threat. It wasn't an empty one. "I know you shrink under the shadow of your brother. I saw how you looked at her as she danced for your brother. I did not care. Men will always have wandering eyes. I do not care because I know despite your darkness, you are mine and I am yours. I care because she will destroy you by letting you destroy yourself. I worry about your soul."

 _If it's power you seek, then it's power you will have,_ he remembered her as an apparition wrapped in black smoke. Her voice was raspy and distant yet sure. _Your men will die in battle sacrificial lambs for the greater ruler to rise._ Claudius remembered being asleep and peaceful yet awake and haunted. In her eyes was a sea that would cause him to drown and sometimes, the violet colour of even an rarer flower that would poison him and then kill him. Her skin was pale and smooth like alabaster and he remembered how she had pressed her lips to his lightly. Then as the empress smirked at him, Claudius shivered as she pressed her lips to his throat, her sharp nail cutting across the skin of his abdomen.

 _Morbi ut effundant sanguinem, fundetur sanguis sicut oportet._ To shed the blood of many, she told him, caressing his face with the back of her hand, he had to shed the blood of one.

"You are not mad, Lysette," Claudius confessed, matter of fact. He wore a wistful smile, taking his wife in his arms and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I am yours," and then kissed her mouth greedily as he fingered her hair. There was a sharpness in his abdomen where her fingernail burrowed itself and branded him. Instead of pain, he felt an orgasmic thrill of pleasure that in turn, made her moan and beg for him.

Claudius roughly ripped off Lysette's dress as she undressed him in turn.

He stared at Lysette's face. He didn't deserve a woman such as this. But he deserved what he had fought for his whole life. Aurelius. He was golden, the good man, the merciful ruler with a soft heart for the downtrodden but a head for folly. That folly had killed them and would burn the Empire to the ground. Claudius found his name amusing because his parents had pushed their crippled boy into the shadows. His father looked at him with disdain, while his mother would hold him to her breast while cursing the gods for ailments he had, but did not understand.

Lysette had a belief in him no one else did and Claudius sometimes wish Aurelius had married her instead. They would be a better match. Using his thumb, Claudius stroked the apple of her cheek. He could see the vivid rosiness in her cheeks, the green irises that reminded Claudius of green grass after the dew of a fresh rain hung in the air. But in candlelight, Claudius finally understood. He understood and found clarity in the shadows that flickered against the walls.

Claudius understood and for that, he prayed for some kind of forgiveness.

He held Lysette's chin with misty eyes, rasped as if praying, "Forgive me…"

And so ended the story of Claudius and Lysette as he ripped her throat open. He would be as powerful as promised yet tormented as his flower wilted in his arms.

—

He who gives resolute protection.

Who was his protecting and why did he care? He could have been a very happy, drunk man but here he was in her woods, annoyed and sober. He spent his days drinking wine he took from the gods because they were metal and it would be wasteful. What good was a sacrifice if it was just going to not be consumed? The sweet taste of mulled wine still dulled his senses, but when one sense faded, another took over. His reflexes were as sharp as the sword he was going to shoot into his wench's back once and for all. There was still blood on his hand, dried and sticky for only his eyes.

He heard whispers of things to come and made others think he had been chosen by the gods or touched by dark forces. It was an odd paradox, but perhaps, best. He slept in the abbey during the day while he became enamoured with a foreign woman with a golden-haired woman and freckles at night. Brothels were sinful places but filled to the rafters with his kind of carnal indulgences, but he slept in a place of stone deemed holy. He had no house, no relation, or source of comfort, or the heart of another. All he knew was his mission. He did not know whose blood flowed through his veins but he knew these woods grew with leaves, trees with sturdy trunks.

He moved in a social environment that encouraged being peaceful but could move skillfully in another space that called for war and bloodshed. If the gods themselves were so magnanimous, why did they punish others? They must have been insanity mortals made deities to pass the time. The young man furrowed his brow and whipped around when he stepped forward and heard the distant hissing of a serpent. A large one with scales of silver and azure coiled itself around a low hanging branch. An angry cry erupted from his throat and with his bare hands, he took the branch and bent it in half. The snake writhed around as it too, was torn itself and bled on the wood floor.

A woman's laughter behind him sounded and with fury in his eyes, he turned around and drew his sword. He exhaled, twirling the hilt of silver, onyx and amethyst in his hands with ease and confidence.

"I fear I will have to yield."

He felt a smirk tug at his lips. "An empress yielding? Maybe magic does exist."

Her form became real to him as she stepped up out the shadows in a dark gown of dark purple. Little feet moved across the floor, disturbing nothing. Long dark hair tumbled freely over her shoulder, tousled to the length of her hips. It was as they did say, he noted, locking eyes with her. Her skin seemed ethereal, absorbing moonlight. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue and her lips full and red as the wine he loved in excess.

She walked up to him until the tip of his sword was pressed against her bosom. Biting her lip, he watched her hold back a chuckle.

"You are the seer."

"A man has shed the blood of the woman he loves tonight by your hand."

He raised the tip of the sword from her bosom to the length of her swan like neck. She glanced at it with mock disdain and sighed. A lighter laugh came from her lips as a light green aura crackled from her fingertips and he found his sword thrown away from him. It landed in the leaves softly and she folded her hands, full of dangerous grace and a murderous poise.

"I admire your boldness. You approach your empress with swords when you know you are to bow," she observed, calm yet amused.

"I bow to no one."

"Is that so?" the monarch inquired and then grinned, throwing him against the rough surface of a tree trunk with a smooth movement of her hand. The wind left him and then returned but he could not move. However, he could see. He can see the city, burning with vibrant flames and the darkest smoke coiling itself the city. The people would worship their empress as the streets ran with streams of blood. She tossed him a knowing glance, the cry of a crow cracking the silence. "You've seen again," she uttered a word he could not understand and the heavy sword was carried by a wind like force. It floated into her waiting hands and she cradled it as one who handled something sacred. Gritting his teeth, he fought against the constraints she placed upon him. Her eyes turned a steely slate grey and she screamed, _"Be still, William!"_

He smiled at her coolly, still pinned by her magic. Her ice was capable of melting it seemed. The Empress was full of suppressed flame, stoked by her own capacity to destroy. Maybe, just maybe, she would destroy herself. William chuckled aloud as the sword hummed and glowed with a soft white light from the hilt. He grew quite comfortable against this rough tree trunk. After all, he was merely held against his will. Wild, blue eyes bored through his as they grew wide with realization. Her skin sizzled, turning dark as it burned against the empress' skin and she dropped it. The dark burn healed as if it had never been there. William saw the beast she housed, retreat and seal itself away. The empress grinned at him brightly and freed him. She waved her arm, making an ornate throne appear from the earth and a chair in front of her for him. He watched in wonder and went to retrieve his sword and sheathed it, but glared.

"Please. Do sit," she offered, as she did. "We must talk. You have been searching for me, so I must oblige you."

"You'll pardon me for wanting to see you ended."

She shrugged and settled into the throne of another kingdom.

William coolly did and watched the same serpent he had torn in half, slither to its mistress. Its silver scales glinted like stars in its slow movement but a dark night sky seemed to swallow the stars and moon dust and wrapped around itself the arm rest. Her eyes lit up like a child and she giggled as it hissed at her, lowly. She touched it and bid it go in her strange tongue as a mother would a child.

"William, is there anything you love? Anything you crave?" she asked seriously, turning to him. She surveyed him, tapping a sharp nail against the surface against the throne.

He furrowed a brow, wind biting and cold against his skin and then smiled, faintly.

William let the question marinate in his mind. What did he love? Did he have anything he cared about? Was anything dear enough to give his life purpose when he did not know how it began? He awoke to the chanting and incense devoted to gods and went to sleep with the love of a woman he paid for to make him feel like one. In the time between William explored, read and trained for a war he knew would be long but his responsibility. He loved adventure, he supposed. He craved hopping on a horse, or boarding a school that would push him to a new land with the strength of all four winds. Master Tiberius often chided him for his nomadic behaviour. _William, I pray the gods will give you the gift of stillness. I always have,_ he heard that gravelly voice, _but they have given you a gift man can't comprehend._

At times, he could not comprehend the sight either. He simply had to embrace and hoped he was using it for some good in the world. William heard Master Tiberius' voice again, the sound of a memory he cherished quite well. He heard the rough, steady strokes of the bristles against hard stone and felt the sun beating against his muscular back but found strange comfort in the chores. He woke up that day with an overflow of energy that made him, irritated but with the need to work and then drink until he was sated.

 _You have the stubbornness of a bull, the temperament of a mad man but the heart of a warrior. I have nurtured you but you have no home, no house. My prayer is that the gods grant you one, or you build your own._

He was he who gave protection. William. But he had no real house, no real haven.

"I believe," William said after a pause, equal parts serious and charming, "we all have vices. Things we desire. I'm afraid I have many things I love and want yet cannot have. The timing is not quite right. How can I love a woman not yet created? How can I desire a house that I have not yet seen rise, Empress?"

"Ah. The seer is as wise as he is wild."

"And I don't dare underestimate your cunning."

"Do you desire me?" she asked, the low of an owl sounding. He looked up to see its head rotate and fix its large, round eyes on him. It was as if it had been searching for him and it had completed its quest. William could hear whispers carried in its low hooting, but he could not understand. The empress smiled warmly, although it did not reach her predatory eyes. "Would you crave a woman such as I in your bed if you wished it so?"

"Any man would die for you."

Her eyebrow was raised and said matter-of-factly, "And you would not?"

"I am but a lowly orphan," William replied, self-deprecating. The owl let out another hoot, low and warbled. "My death would not be worth much to you even though you demand it."

He stood without decorum while she rose with poise that irritated him.

The empress strode to him and stroked his face. "I wish for your death, just as you wish for mine," she whispered, peering into his eyes. Her touch ignited a current underneath his skin but could have exuded warmth, but she was cold. William tried not to give the monarch the satisfaction of a reaction, a flinch, the anger slowly filling his eyes as he saw her capture the heart of her subjects with one hand and stop it with the one while it was bloody and still beating. He saw the young prince as a ruthless emperor who would terrorize his subjects with hard, unrelenting governance.

In her daughter, William peered into an abyss and saw a monster long made before he was and one that would remain after he did not. He saw a path splitting off into two different roads that would go on and stretch the boundaries of his vision. A knowing, coy smile settled on her lips and those cold blue eyes shifted into a vibrant green. Her nails were longer, sharper and lightly scratched his throat and the bottom of her dress floated. He winced against the pain although she drew no blood from him. He grabbed her wrist, the force making her gasp.

"I have seen and understand," William declared, dropping her wrist but with stoicism to match hers. He swept the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip. Green signified the colour of earth. New life. _New men_. But he saw many become sickly and turn green as Master Tiberius uttered Last Rites, death imminent, although sometimes merciful. "I have seen you, Anna Maria."

William grabbed her and kissed her. It was a crushing one and she returned it with equal fervor. It was not love, and it was not romantic but he understood that this like everything before and after was inevitable. He was fatalistic in that manner. Death toward one at the hand of the other. A mutual gift exchange. She smelled of a flowery perfume he couldn't replace. Maybe myrrh. Maybe jasmine. But the strongest was lavender. She pulled away, breathless catching his bottom lip between her teeth before she released it. He was marked, and so she was she. Destined to come together, intersect and repel each other.

"Until we meet again, William. William the Wise and Wild. The House of Abbott is a great house," Anna Maria purred seductively, blue eyes twinkling as she pressed her lips to his cheek. "You will lead it well as I destroy it. Brick by brick," she stepped back from him, laughter escaping her and echoing into the night. "May your summers be as beautiful as you envision them to be."

Anna Maria ran away back into the shadows until she disappeared like smoke separated by the four winds that would carry him away to unchartered territory, too.

On his whole life as he who gave resolute protection and on his honour as an _Abbott_ , William would be ready.


End file.
